#vmhq campfire tale

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What Goes Around... (Part 27b)

This is PART 27b of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 27b is written by @cheshirecatstrut.

[Part 27a]

PART TWO--CONCLUSION

DICK

This new tunnel Rubes found, just to switch things up, is artificially lit, fluorescents attached at intervals along the walls. Plaques at every junction read, “NO FIREARMS, NO SMOKING, NO CELL PHONES, NO LAPTOPS, PLEASE WEAR PROTECTIVE GEAR.”  

“Something’s flammable down here.” Ruby pauses to consult the blueprint, points right. “Also secret.”

“Bunch of wine crates were stacked near the spot where you left Sean,” Dick says. “Old ones. I bet these catacombs were used for smuggling once. Toss a match on some two-hundred-years-buried booze, you’d have a big-ass underground bonfire, amirite?”

“Sure, but I don’t think that’s the reason for the signs.” Ruby taps one as they pass. “These mention modern tech, and someone’s keeping every light working.” She glances back at him. “Is it just me, or is your brain reverting to normal?”

“Haven’t smoked up in, like, half an hour,” Dick says. “And I’ve got what you’d call a high tolerance. There’s a roach in my pocket, still, but do you really want me to ignore the warnings?”

“Probably it’s best to hold off.” She stops at a metal door with a plaque that reads PROCESSING ROOM and tests the handle. “We’ll never save America from the Fuchsia Menace if we’re unexpectedly burned alive.”

Removing supplies from her purse, she goes through her straw-air-hammer routine again; the safety door swings open with a clang. Ruby’s eyes widen as she enters. Once Dick sidles through behind her, he totally concurs.

The big round space on the blueprints marks an enormous underground cavern, walled in rock machine-scraped smooth. Higher-tech coffins than the one in the barn fill most of the available floor space—they look like hyper-sleep pods from Alien, windows showing pink soup beneath. Gigantic steel tanks at the cave’s center sprout spiderish sprays of pipes, each attaching to one coffin. Dick wonders how any amount of revenge could be worth lying Matrix-style for DAYS.

“I KNEW IT!” he crows, prompting Ruby to shush him. His voice echoes. “Didn’t I call this scenario, last time we were theorizing? Seriously, I need to patent this weed-- it’s, like, miracle shit, Rub-a-roni.”

“Did you breed and grow the particular strain in your pocket? No? Then you can’t patent it, dummy. Now hush. Something just started beeping over there, and I need to figure out what and why.”

She crosses the room, picking her way carefully between coffins; for lack of anything better to do, Dick follows. When she stops at a screen of scrolling, random-seeming words he looks over her shoulder, shifting his murse back out of the way.

“Is that the names of the pink dudes?” He squints at one line that reads ‘Henson’, and another, “Soloway’. “And if so, what do you think ‘BEGIN DETACHMENT’ means? ‘Cause it seems like some of these coffins are doing it.”

Ruby gasps as, with a loud, clanking hiss, half the tubes uncouple from coffins and begin, slowly, to retract. The list pauses, flashes a ‘DETACHMENT COMPLETE’ message, and begins scrolling again with new names.

“Shit!” she murmurs, and looks up at him with terrified eyes. “Shit, shit, shit, Dick, I think all these zombies are about to wake up! We have to hide; if they find us in here, who KNOWS what they’ll do?”

Dick casts around for a likely nook, but it’s a fucking cave. Notices part of the wall to their left contains an inset desk, and shoves her that direction. “Under there!” he hisses, as several coffin lids creak open. “Quick, we’re out of time!”

“But we’re not hidden!” she whispers back, obliging just the same. He scrambles in after and pulls the rolling chair in front. “They can see us if they look!”

“That Pez guy turned into a moron,” Dick argues, feeling his pocket to make sure the joint’s still there, for after. “Just shut it--I bet you a grand they won’t notice.”

One by one, the coffins’ inhabitants rise, in a flurry of flailing pink limbs and high-pitched shrieks. Hulks of various shapes and sizes, all clad in white t-shirts and briefs, claw and stumble free as if coordination was a casualty of the process. They land on heads and sides, with zero instinct for self-preservation, then bicycle like upended cockroaches until they make it to their feet.

The room fills, rapidly, with milling, squealing pinkness; Ruby clutches Dick in a way that would be gratifying under less gross circumstances. Then, abruptly, a voice booms out across the room. The hulks turn, as one, towards a white movie screen slowly descending from the ceiling.

Sean Friedrich appears in ten-foot Technicolor, wearing a laurel-leaf crown and toga, lit in such a flattering and gilded style Dick’s positive he directed this segment. Raising his arms like that Italian dictator from Call of Duty: World War II, Sean shouts, “Welcome to the Pantheon, demigods!” Then giggles, the way he always does when he’s had a shitload too much coke.

The Hot Pink Funky Bunch cock their heads and screech like a bunch of brain-damaged birds. But at least they quit staggering around, and a few actually try to listen.

“You’ve been selected, after a VERY competitive search, and gifted with powers FAR beyond those of mortal men,” Sean intones, voice getting higher and rapider as if someone’s switched him to fast-forward. “Now it’s time to USE those powers for our common good. And to teach the assholes populating the rest of the world their PLACE!”

Lots of howling punctuates this statement, along with rudimentary words; a few fights break out between Hulks that stumble into each other. “Please form a line,” Sean continues, more prosaically, “and walk through the door beneath the flashing red light to get street clothes. We’ll gather in the auditorium for a speech. Then you’ll be bused to the location specified on your liability waivers, so you can FULFILL YOUR HEROIC DESTINIES!”

More chaos accompanies this statement--the screen retracts into the ceiling as ‘A Film by Sean Friedrich’ flashes across. Then a red safety light, accompanied by a klaxon, begins flashing over a door on the far wall. The Hulks gather to stare, attracted by the noise and color. When the door swings open, they file out, screaming and punching all the way.

In the quiet after the last of them leave, Dick exhales, then checks to make sure he didn’t pee himself again. Ruby peeks out from beneath the desk.

“Come on!” She turns to tug urgently at Dick. “We need to LEAVE, pronto, and call somebody! If those guys are set loose all over the city to wreak havoc, it could become a statewide emergency!”

He shushes her frantically as booted footsteps echo through the room—this guy moves like he’s got a purpose, and more importantly, is wearing shoes. She hears, presses in close, but her silence comes too late. The feet pause, the chair’s jerked aside, and the owner of two denim-clad legs says, “Come out right now, you idiots. Don’t make me shoot.”

Ruby emerges slowly, hands up. Dick follows, wishing for once she’d let him go first. Then sighs with relief when he sees who exactly it IS, holding the gun.

“What the hell?” he demands, shoving their discoverer back a step. “You scared the crap out of me! Don’t you realize this place is dangerous?” Then, as the gun barrel pointed at him doesn’t waver, adds, “Wait, wait, wait…you’re not…IN on the whole zombie thing with these douchebags, are you?”

VERONICA

V pushes aside a branch and peers past it into a clearing; at the center stands a tall, pink individual in rags and Hanes Big Boys, face pressed fervently against a piece of fabric. Birds have fallen silent as the woods reverberate with his moans.

“That’s definitely not Wallace,” Logan observes in her ear, barely a breath of sound. “He’s as tall as me, and his hair is spiky.”

“No,” Veronica muses, “but he seems familiar somehow. Like I met him once but can’t quite remember the name?”

“WHERE YOU GO RONKAAAAA?” the figure wails, turning its face in profile to the sky, and Mac says hesitantly, from behind them, “Listen I hate to be the one to point out the obvious, but…isn’t that Piz?”

“Oh shit!” Veronica says, and apparently the Hulk hears THAT. It turns abruptly, face lighting up in a ghoulish-pink too-many-teeth grin.

“RONKAAAAA!” it yells, staggering towards her on twisted, bleeding feet. Extends the piece of fabric and adds, “RONKA YOU MEET MY MOTHERRRRR!”

“Is he holding a woman’s jacket?” Veronica takes an involuntary step back, hand on Logan’s arm. “Why does he have…and what’s the milky smear, that CAN’T be…EW!”

“Maybe he thought it was yours?” Mac suggests, sotto voce, and Veronica shoots her a scandalized look. “So what are our options? We can’t hurt the guy, it’s Stosh Piznarski! You used to do his laundry.”

“As if.” Veronica shifts to evade when Piz lumbers closer. “And he’d better not be hoping I’m willing to wash THAT.”

The creature stops, head cocking, to study Logan, who’s standing very quiet and still, rhythmically flexing his hand. Eyes going wide with belated-recognition rage—confused, possibly, by the donkey shirt—he screams, “LOGAN I KICK ASS YOUUUU!” at the top of his lungs. Then charges.

Pink Piz is fast, far faster than he was as a person; V flinches in reaction, expecting him to take Logan down. But her boyfriend somehow manages a spectacular leap, vaulting over the zombie’s shoulder like an Olympic gold medalist. He lands, crouched and sneering, at the clearing’s center and beckons.

“What was THAT?” Mac demands as Piz shrieks and lowers his head. He does another flailing run, reminding Veronica why she stopped going with him to dance clubs. Logan stands braced until he’s a foot distant—then unexpectedly runs top speed out of the woods. Bellowing, Piz follows.

“Ugh, he’s protecting us by leading that thing away!” Veronica growls, giving chase. Raises her voice to add, “I’m the one with the gun here, dipwad! Will you EVER quit acting suicidally heroic?”

“You can’t shoot, though,” Mac chides, stumbling along behind her. “Because you’d be offing your ex. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Veronica shoves branches aside, emerging onto the lawn. “But I’m not letting him murder Logan based on an excess of sentiment, either.”

“Clearly,” Mac says, dry. Moves up beside her as Piz chases Logan in circles like a frustrated pink Elmer Fudd. He makes an actually-successful grab, ripping a flap loose from the donkey shirt, and Logan uses the moment of confusion to punch him in the face.

With a roar, Piz lunges and catches him, lifting him high into the air; pink lips peel back from giant pink teeth as excited zombie squeals fill the air. Veronica cocks the golden pistol and aims, falling into a two-handed stance.

Then a cop car barrels up over the hill, emergency lights flashing, horn honking, and makes straight for the unequal combatants.

Piz tosses Logan aside like he used to toss aside used towels, even when the laundry basket was right there. Screams at the approaching vehicle, “LOGAN GO TO JAIL NOT MEEEEE!” then takes off at a shambling run for the woods. He shouts, “I COME BACK RONKAA!” as he goes.

The car skids and squeals to a halt. V rushes across the yard, uncocking the gun as she goes. “Are you okay?” she asks, landing on her knees beside Logan, visually inspecting him for injuries. “Did he hurt you?”

Logan manages to sit up, flushed and sweaty, shakes his head like words are a bridge too far. Grabs the flap that used to be his shirt sleeve, and uses it to wipe his face. “Just chill for a minute,” V says, brushing back his hair. “We should head up to the house and get you some water.”

The cruiser’s driver door opens, and Veronica does a double-take as Weevil climbs out, definitely the worse for wear. “Forget Echolls, he’s just winded,” Weevil calls, voice muted by distance. “Fennel here is in way worse shape. I hope you’ve got the antidote ON you.”

“Oh thank God,” Veronica says, as Logan fumbles in his pocket for the vial of green liquid. “We came back and everyone had disappeared. We thought something terrible happened.”

“Your yuppie ex rampaged all over the house chasing Casablancas in a wig.” Weevil beckons her impatiently closer and opens the rear door. “We escaped through the catacombs, then I TRIED to drive this guy to the CDC.”

“The WHAT-acombs?” Veronica kneels on the floorboard beside Wallace, laying a palm along his forehead. He’s bright pink and thrashing, burning up with fever; a slow dribble of foam leaks from his mouth. Quickly she uncorks the vial. “Jesus, hold that thought. How much of this should I give him?”

Mac moves up behind her, carrying the slip of paper with the formulas. “Whoever wrote this could stand to work on penmanship,” she says. “But it looks to me like the dosage is one drop.”

“Okay, buddy, keep it together just a little bit longer.” Very carefully, Veronica tilts the vial over Wallace’s slack mouth. A single, emerald-green drop slips between his lips, and the effect is immediate. Wallace’s whole body stiffens and jerks, arms thrashing, nearly spilling the antidote before Veronica can re-cork. His jaw opens wide like he’s gasping for air, his lashes snap up, and the pink flush staining his body begins slowly to turn…green?

He stares at Veronica upside down for a moment, face frozen in rictus; then all his muscles relax and he manages a smile. “Just in time,” he says, faintly. “I can always count on you to milk situations for every ounce of drama.”

WEEVIL

Sparing a glance for Echolls, who doesn’t look so hot after fleeing Pinkzilla, Weevil runs his palms over his shaved head, breathing out stress. His hopeful musings about this weird-ass night maybe being over are interrupted by Veronica’s friend Cindy, who sidles up beside him.

“Not to pry,” she says, prying, “but how on Earth did you show up in the nick of time with Wallace, driving a police car?”

Oh right, Weevil thinks. Keith. So much for even half an hour of sleep in his own bed. And he can’t call Hector to open the shop, because there’s no freaking cell service.

As if on cue, his phone rings. Mac lifts a brow as he removes it from his pocket and reads ‘unknown’ on the caller ID. “It’s Clayton’s vehicle,” he tells her, pressing ‘accept’. “I dropped him at the Pro Med on the way through town--I’ll explain in a minute.”

“MAN, the mobile reception here is weird.” Cindy shakes her head, looking as disgusted as Weevil feels. Across the line a male voice calls, “Hello?”

“Navarro,” Weevil says, curt, and the guy says, “Oh, thank God. I was beginning to think I’d never reach anyone but Casablancas. And no offense, but that guy sounded WAY too high to help much.”

“If you think I’ll be offended by someone ragging on Casablancas, you don’t know me very well.” Weevil walks away from the ongoing tearful reunion so he can hear better. “Who is this, and how’d you get my number?”

“It’s Leo D’Amato.” The voice pauses to cough. “I’m looking for Veronica Mars, you seen her?”

“Yeah, she’s here.” Weevil relaxes—he knows this cop’s a friend of V’s. “But now’s not a good time. She just gave the antidote to her pink friend, and it’s having some weird-ass side effects.”

“The ANTIDOTE? She FOUND it? Navarro, that needs to get to the CDC, like yesterday! At last count thirteen pink individuals have been captured all over the city, after wreaking havoc to confuse the news crews. If we don’t provide a remedy soon, those men are going to die.”

“Yeah, that was never gonna happen before Fennel got a dose.” Weevil smirks. “Guy’s eyeballs were pink, and you know V takes care of her people first.”

“Fine, whatever. Just make sure she saves some for testing; the government scientists can reverse-engineer it. Look, here’s the main reason I called—you guys aren’t anywhere near the Van Vliet winery, right?”

“We’re standing in the middle of it,” Weevil says. “Strange shit’s been going down here all day. Piznarski’s running around hot pink in his underwear. And your dirty detective pal has you would not BELIEVE how complicated a plot going with Liam Fitpatrick, this drug dealer I know, and my high school English teacher.”

“Explain all that to me later,” Leo says. “When I’m not hopped up on morphine and can figure out what you mean. Right now I need to warn you--this plot you’re talking about goes way beyond drug dealing with a side of rosacea. Military officers keep turning up to grill me about secret armies and political rebellions, and one of them made a crack about going in hot. Which means someone’s thinking of dropping a bomb. On YOU. SOON.”

“Shit,” Weevil says, takes a step back like that will somehow protect him. Then promptly falls down a hole.

He lands on sand after a ten-foot drop, winded but mostly unhurt, gazing up at the night sky through a small, square opening. His phone, not so lucky, hits a rock, and shatters into a hundred sharp fragments.

“Mackenzie!” Weevil calls--pauses to cough, tries again. Hopes fervently he’s not catching a cold on top of everything else. “Echolls! Get over here, I found something!”

Silence for a minute, while he sits up with a groan. Then Echolls’ smug face appears in the rectangle of sky. “Looks like…you found a hole, man.”

Weevil extends a middle finger, pushing up to standing; Echolls slaps a previously-unnoticed ladder bolted to the rock. “Trap door,” he says, unnecessarily. “Can you climb?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” Weevil spreads palms on knees and bends over, trying to get air back into his lungs. A stray moonbeam flashes across metal, making it shimmer, and he kneels to pick the shiny object up. It’s a tie clip, shaped like a pair of handcuffs.

“You recognize this?” He passes the clip to Echolls, then slowly, painfully, returns to the yard. “Looks familiar, but I’m not sure from where.”

“Yeah, Keith.” Echolls sits to study the thing, rubbing a thumb along the crease between his eyes. He glances apprehensively at Veronica, still by the car cooing over Fennel. “It’s…Mr. Mars. Was wearing it tonight.” Spreading a palm over his face, he shakes his head, as if trying to clear it.

Mackenzie approaches to touch Echolls’ shoulder. “You OK?” she asks, concerned. “Did Piz clobber you?” She inspects his scalp for lumps, then extends a hand, palm out. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Mac, I’m just tired,” Echolls says. Weevil sighs, because he’s the one who fell down a fucking hole.

But he’s not a whiny two-year-old, so, “Mars!” he calls, instead of complaining. Her head bobs up over the cop car, like a prairie dog on some nature show. “We got a situation!”

Veronica helps Wallace gently out and offers a shoulder. The guy admittedly seems better, coherent and moving on his own, despite rocking the Jolly Green Not-So-Giant look. “What’s wrong?” she asks, with a concerned frown at Logan, when she gets close enough to talk.

In answer, Echolls holds up the tie tack; V sets Fennel on the grass to examine it. “This is Dad’s.” She looks between them for confirmation. “He was wearing it earlier. Where did you find this?”

Weevil points to the hole, and Veronica lies beside it, peering down. “Do you hear CHANTING?” she calls, girly voice audible despite the wind. The rest of them move closer, and yeah.

“So I guess we follow the creepy underground cult sounds?” Weevil asks, resigned. Veronica gives him the you-get-a-gold-star smile he learned to dread in eleventh grade. “Can Fennel even hike?”

“Somebody should take him to a hospital,” Veronica decides. “Mac, you game? You’re most able to explain his symptoms from a scientific perspective, and I’m sure the CDC doctors will have questions.”

“Of course.” Cindy holds out her hand for the car keys, which Weevil slaps into her palm. “You want me to surrender the antidote formula?”

“Yes,” Veronica says. “But first…” she takes the slip back, pulls out her phone, and quickly photographs both sides. “Insurance,” she says with a grin, returning it. “In case they have trouble distributing medicine to anyone in need. Oh, and after Wallace is squared away, call Bob Dillen at the San Diego PD and tell him everything. He’ll make sure nothing important gets swept under the rug.”

Veronica and her friend hug goodbye; Echolls sits on the ground staring at the tie tack while Weevil helps Fennel back to the car. Seems like V’s BFF is fading, exhausted by his ordeal--but he still grabs Weevil’s arm as soon as he’s buckled in.

“Thanks, man,” Fennel says, flashing a tired green smile. “For working so hard to save me, I really owe you one. And thanks for sticking around to look after these characters, too.”

“No problem, man, just get better.” Weevil pats the hood. “And less like a glow-stick at some rich kid’s party, this right here is not a good look for you.”

“Beats being dead,” Wallace says, and Weevil smiles and shuts the door. Veronica waves as Cindy drives away.

They descend into the tunnel, Weevil first (of course), Echolls shambling along ten feet back; Weevil wonders, watching him, if another trip to Pro Med’s in the cards. V has a hard time with the ladder, her hand doesn’t want to grip. She keeps flexing her fingers and frowning as they traverse the sandy dimness.

“You all right?” Weevil asks. V glances up at him with a faint smile.

“I landed weird when I fell this afternoon. My whole arm was numb for a while, then seemed better—maybe adrenaline masked the pain.” She waves off personal injury, activating the flashlight on her phone. “Doesn’t matter. Breitski’s got Dad’s down here somewhere--job one is to find him.”

“Dick’s on the premises, too,” Echolls contributes from behind. “And my stalker, whatshername, Jetson, and…Piz.”

“Oh yeah,” Veronica says, unenthusiastically. “Those guys. Sure, we can save them as well, if the opportunity presents.”

“Whatever we’re planning, we need to do it soon.” Weevil frowns as the chanting grows louder. “D’Amato called right before I smashed my phone, said the military’s gonna drop bombs.”

“Great.” Echolls emits a choked half-laugh. “Shock and awe. My karma.”

“Man, what did Piznarski DO to you?” Weevil demands, turning back to watch the guy stagger. “Usually your conversation’s all five-dollar words, and you won’t ever fucking shut up.”

“I’m fine,” Echolls says, stubbornly, and manages a reassuring smile. “Gotta find Dad, can’t…get lit up. Then X-rays.”

Veronica frowns, laying a palm against his cheek; but takes him at his word, because they’re both drama queens with hard-ons for saving humanity. Weevil shakes his head, checks his watch, and points at the door through which chanting filters.

He tries the handle--it’s unlocked, so he cracks it and peeks through. Echolls and V line up above and below so they can see, and softly, Veronica gasps.

Inside a big-ass cave, done up like a Broadway theater, a hundred pink idiots mill, dressed in street clothes, bumping each other and yelling. A video screen on the wall is playing loops--a pink Nice Guy shoves a leather-clad douche off a pretty girl, who then melts into Pinkie’s arms.

That senator’s son who framed Echolls for murder lounges in a throne center-stage, surrounded on three sides by soldiers-for-hire. He’s desultorily leading the Pinks in a chant of, “What do we want? Revenge! When do we want it? Now!” between sips of Topo Chico.

And handcuffed to a bench, stage left, are Dick, Ruby and a groggy-looking Keith Mars.

DICK

Richard Casablancas, Esquire is way glad, at this point, he’s high as fuck. Because watching LUKE, of all people, turn out to be the brains behind a zombie superhero rebellion is…really pretty hilarious, when he thinks about it.

To Dick’s left, Keith Mars is finally starting to rise and shine. Which takes a load off, because Ron Ron would ruin anyone who let the guy die. “Wha…?” the slightly-less-tiny detective manages, trying to make it upright. “Where?”

“Take it easy, man.” Dick uses his shoulder to lever Daddy Mars upright. “I think Breitski whomped you good. You’ve got a knot on your temple the size of an egg.”

“Where am I?” Keith asks, sinking against the wall for support. “And what on Earth is…all this?”

“You’re in the catacombs,” Ruby buts in, on top of the sitch as usual. “Under the Van Vliet winery. I’m Ruby Jetson, by the way, Mr. Mars. You’ve probably heard of me?”

Keith frowns, clearly at a loss, and Dick explains, “Dude, she’s on our side, no worries. And as for ‘all this’…looks like a motivational meeting to rouse the idiot brigade?”

Luke abandons the chant, because none of the zombies are listening, and beckons one of the mercs. “They’re as riled up as they’re getting,” he says, draining his Topo Chico. Snaps for someone to fetch him another. “Get ‘em on a bus, drop ‘em off all over the city, let them wreck as much infrastructure as possible. And try to monitor their…activities during the trip. Last time we had to hose the seats down.”

The guy salutes, activates another flashing-light-klaxon, and rounds up a couple buddies to herd out the Hulks. The dumbasses moan, punch and protest—one tries to grab and hump the girl in the video—but the soldiers have cattle prods to keep them in line.

“Your evil plan will never work!” Ruby calls out, movie-bravely, and Luke spares her a bored look.

“Are you talking about them?” He accepts a fresh sparkling water and gestures with it at the Pink Horde. “What do you take me for? They couldn’t execute a plan if you drew it out in crayon. They’re just meant to tie up police resources--and confuse the public--while our REAL operation goes down.”

“Which is what?” Keith asks, seemingly calm. But Dick, who’s been interrogated by the guy more than once during Keith’s Sheriff days and Dick’s vandalism ones, recognizes his sneaky cop face. “World domination? Why is it always world domination with you guys?”

“Not the WORLD,” Luke says, impatient. “Just the nice part of California, from Neptune to Malibu. Our non-pink militia is poised to take over, during the chaos caused by those morons.”

“But dude,” Dick protests. “Why work so hard? You’re already rich as fuck, your dad’s a politician—you framed Logan for murder, plus threw Susan off a boat, and all you got was PROBATION.”

“Duh,” Luke says. “Would YOU want to report to some mouth-breather every week for a year? I’m sick of being told what to do! First my dad forbids me to come out, then that douchecanoe Cobb makes me pretend to be his friend, and THEN the cops get all up in my face, sending me to rehab for six MONTHS. All because stupid Carrie Bishop had to sing about my every tiny mistake, for catharsis or whatever.”

“Hey!” Ruby yells, struggling to get loose like she’s overcome with fury. “Carrie was a goddess! You take that back!”

“Whatever, wannabe.” Luke favors her with a dismissive look. “Anyway, a lot of us missed the old days when Van Lowe and the Lambs were Sheriffs, and we did what we wanted, and no one cared. So we figured, the whole country’s expecting Calexit anyway--why not oblige? Create our own little utopian kingdom, where nobody can tell us no. Sean, admittedly, got carried away with his Gods Among Men delusions of grandeur; but you know how cokeheads freak when their artistic travesties fail. Have you seen Sean around this evening, by the way? He’s been missing since last night, and he was supposed to run this meeting so I wouldn’t have to. He lives for the Dr. Wayne Dyer shit.”

“Yeah, he’s at the bottom of your service-road Pungi pit with a broken leg,” Dick says. “And some dead body named Andy to keep him company. Ruby gave him Kleenex, though, to wipe away his tears.”

Ruby snickers beside him; Dick smiles, ‘cause it feels good to make her laugh.

“Damn it!” Luke throws up his hands. “WHY is good help so hard to find?”

A yelling uproar begins as Veronica, Logan and Weevil burst in from the hallway--Dick grins, because about fucking time. “Ronniekins!” he calls, even though he knows she can’t hear. “You came to save me!”

“Veronica Mars,” Luke says with disgust, draining his Topo Chico and tossing it aside. “Always showing up to kill my buzz. Go take care of them for me, will you boys? We’re on a tight schedule of California-conquering, we don’t need Miss Nosy butting in.”

The mercs file down to fight, only Wei remaining behind, presumably as Luke’s bodyguard. Logan and Weevil, neither of whom frankly looks so hot, go back to back and raise fists; Veronica, who seems fine despite that memory-loss business, comes running towards the stage. She’s waving a gun…and granted, Dick’s still kinda high, but they can’t make pistols out of solid gold, can they?

“Get away from my father, Luke!” she yells, aiming; that little Ronnie face Dick privately considers chipmunk-ish is screwed up into a scowl. Wei doesn’t bother to take her weapon—probably he knows as well as everyone Veronica won’t shoot. Luke, safely shielded, stifles a snicker.

“Come on, guys, Star Wars reference!” He points at Veronica, then himself. “God, you’re a bunch of buzzkills. It’s like you’re not even grateful I’m changing the world for your BENEFIT!”

“Maybe Dick would rather live in the REAL world…with people who are actually his friends,” Ruby says defiantly, and laughter distracts Wei and Luke long enough for Veronica to toss Dick a handcuff key. He can’t catch it, because, well, handcuffs; but he puts his foot over it on the floor and winks.

“Friends like you?” Luke asks. “Or Veronica? Whatever, Veronica Mars CONSTANTLY oppresses Dick and me both. And it’s not like she doesn’t want the status that comes with being elite. I mean, she hitched her wagon to Logan fucking Echolls. That guy used to be our KING.”

Everybody turns for a minute to look at Logan, who’s mid-room fighting like a BOSS, throwing super-mercs around as if they’re Cabbage Patch dolls. Ruby fans herself, muttering, “HUBBA, HUBBA!” Veronica gets so distracted LUKE kicks her gun out of her hand.

Keith falls on the floor during the chaos, faking unconsciousness, but secretly whacking Dick in the ankle to attract his attention. Obligingly, Dick moves his foot. Keith grabs the key, and gets to work on his handcuffs.

“If I wasn’t so appalled, I’d be impressed,” Veronica bluffs, glaring at Luke and gauging the distance to the fallen gun. “Who knew you had a scheme like this in you?”

Breitski picks up Keith and sets him back on the bench; studies the fight mid-room, frowning, as he tosses the gun backstage, then reluctantly wades into the fray. Luke says, “Hey, I’m just tired of being kept down by the Man. If people would let me do what I want with no CONSEQUENCES, I would never have had to get nasty.”

Handcuffs undone, Keith covertly passes the key to Ruby, and chimes in to distract their captors’ attention. “I think you might want to brush up on your Bill of Rights, Haldemann,” he says. “You seem to be laboring under some misconceptions.”

“Yeah, well soon I’m not going to be laboring at ALL.” Luke cracks up over his own joke, then dives for the gun a half-second after Veronica does. They begin tussling on the floor for possession; Keith wades in to help, and Ruby gets herself free, then uses the key to unlock Dick.

Dick grabs his sort-of girl, plants one on her, says, “My hero!” while she blushes and shoves him (but not like she means it). Then he yells, “DUDE, I’M COMING!” and takes a running leap, stage-diving into the fray.

The fight’s down to six mercs versus the Three Amigos; Navarro’s getting the shit beat out of him, which Dick finds weird. It’s not like these guys are especially tough. Dick’s grabbing and throwing them like it’s a Matrix video game, and Logan’s a freaking machine. Super-soldier shmuper-soldier, he thinks, kicking one jackoff sideways across the room. They’re no match for the Wonder Pot. Dick just needs to figure out how to grow the stuff from scratch, then he’s gonna make millions.

“Dude, military training is seriously underrated!” he shouts at Logan, who grunts in response. His pal knocks two bad guys together just as Navarro goes flying, landing against the stage with a thud. Dick blocks a hammer punch by stupid Breitski, kicks the douchebag in the nards, and says, “Yeah, that hurts, doesn’t it?” when the guy stays down for a minute, writhing.

He forgets what he’s doing for a second—apparently he IS still baked--then cackles and punches some asshole in the neck. Navarro shakes it off and forges back into the fray. “It’s like this is all going in slow motion!” Dick yells with glee, spinning in a circle and striking a karate pose. “Super Weed is so cool! I know kung fu!”

“Man, how much dope did you SMOKE?” Navarro asks, barely dodging a blow that would have broken his nose for sure. “And why do you smell like piss?”

“Long story.” Dick waves it off. Then gapes as Logan grabs one of the two mercs still standing, swings him around over his head by one arm, and throws him all the way across the fucking room. “Holy shit, dude, someone ate his Wheaties this morning! Did you SEE that, Weevs? Even all sunburned and exhausted and shit, he is kicking ASS!”

“He’s sunburned?” Navarro demands, grabbing up an empty shoe and slamming it into Breitski’s face. “You’re practically scalded, even your eyes are fucking….oh SHIT! Shit, Casablancas, man, did you and Echolls touch the pink goo?”

Dick thinks back as he grabs Breiski and throws him onto the stage, where he slides halfway under the big, red curtain. “Well, Rubster said not to, while they were giving Wallace a bath. And Piz just chased me around and tried to hand me flowers…oh crap! Logan and I carried Wallace inside the house, after I kinda-sorta ran him over, and we didn’t wash off! We’re fucking PINKIFYING!”

Logan lets out a roar, snarling as he waits for the next threat to come at him. Dick glances around, observes that all the nearby mercs look unconscious, and pulls the half-smoked joint out of his pocket. “Don’t worry, dude, I’ve got this. I just need to spark up and blow some in Logan’s face. This pot must work, like, synergistically with the pink to make people extra-smart; because every time I’ve gotten high all afternoon, I turn into, like, this super-efficient genius.”

Weevil manages a skeptical look with his swollen face; but Dick, undeterred, sticks to his plan. Logan tries to attack him when he ventures close—man the guy really does look as grapefruit-colored as Piz—but Dick just says, “No, dude, trust me.” Then grabs his arm, and blows the biggest drag he can right up Logan’s nostrils.

“Help!” Veronica yells from the stage, and Weevil goes sprinting off her direction--but Dick’s got his hands full, so he doesn’t bother to look. He feeds Logan another hit, which brings enough of his friend’s mind back to bat weakly at the smoke and go, “No, Navy….trouble…BREITSKI!”

Then he shoves Dick down and aims a punch over his head, right into that pain-in-the-ass rogue cop’s face.

Rolling his eyes at Wei’s deck shoes with no socks, Dick trips the guy and stands to feed the last hit to his friend, because that’s the kind of sharing bros do. Logan coughs, says, “I can’t believe this is helping,” then kicks Breitski for good measure. “You need to resign yourself…jail,” he adds, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s two against one, and we’re all on the same drugs.”

“Ah, but I believe in the righteousness of my cause.” Wei grabs Logan’s foot and tries to yank him down—but Logan does some jump-over-the-leg martial-arts thing and plants a foot in the guy’s head because he’s just. that. awesome.

“Impressive,” Breitski admits, shaking off the blow. “I could use fighters like you two. And frankly, I’ve never understood why you’d both thwart us rather than join us. Aren’t you as sick of lawyer fees and taxes as I am? Superior officers threatening to court-martial, parents causing trouble even from jail, and never enough time to REALLY surf?”

He backs off and begins to circle, somehow under the impression they have time to listen to words. “Help us establish our kingdom, and all that’s behind you. The wannabe’s dumb enough to sign up for Pink Formula take the fall. And you know the serving class will fall in line, because things won’t be so different, really, from the way they are now. You could be kings again, just like you were in high school. You’ll never face another murder charge as long as you live.”

“Wow.” Logan tilts his head to loosen his neck, bones cracking. The smirk on his face clues Dick in that whatever comes next will be sweet. “Ten years ago, right after Veronica left, that line might have held faint appeal. But I’ve cleaned up my act, since, and learned something your desperate-to-be-Bodie-Chang ass won’t—rules and social accountability are GOOD.”

“Whoo, political arguments from the Log-meister! The Wonder Pot is wor-KANG!” Dick claps as Logan lays his right hook on Brietski, a really epic one, like a sledgehammer. The guy goes flying backwards and lands on his knees, flush to the edge of the stage. Rushing forwards, grinning (because no matter how spit-shined he gets, Logan’s always gonna love a good fight) he cocks a fist to annihilate. But before he can, Veronica appears from behind the curtain, and administers a whack to the poor bastard’s head with the butt of her golden gun.

Breitski goes down with a smear of gold to his temple, eyes rolling back. “And that,” she tells his unconscious form, with satisfaction, “is what you get when you mess with the bull. Or the bull’s impressively ethical boyfriend, as the case may be.”

“Ronniekins!” Dick crows, as Logan leaps onto the stage to lift and embrace her. “Is that gun, like, made of titanium? Because nobody’s disputing you have balls, babes, but this asshole’s super-soldier strong.”

Veronica holds out a palm, which is bright pink; pushes up her sleeve to reveal creepy-ass pink tendrils stretching up her arm. “I held hands with Logan,” she says, favoring her biggest admirer with a worried glance. “So temporarily, I am, too.”

Dick glances up at the stage, where Haldemann lies hogtied with the curtain rope, under the watch of Keith Mars and his handgun. Navarro slumps, panting, on the bench. Around the room, a sea of out-of-it super mercs lie groaning, but…Dick frowns. “Where’s Rubes?” he asks, patting his pocket and wishing he had just one more joint. “I ran off to help fight, and when I looked up, she was gone.”

Veronica ignores him, naturally, busy administering antidote to Logan and herself. Just as Dick’s about to remind her he could use that shit too, the door at the far end of the room slams open. A Special Forces squad storms in, late as usual because fucking military red tape.

Dick knows the drill so he just lies on his face with his hands behind his head. Wonders if his lawyer’s even awake yet.

A small boot nudges him, after a moment. A voice from above says, “You can get up now. We’re only arresting the actual criminals.”

He rolls over, and there, looming, is Ruby, decked out in a flak vest and helmet over the Lara Croft gear, carrying a freaking automatic. She extends a hand to help; he stands and gestures up and down at her outfit. “What’s this all about? Where did you GO?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she says, with a faint smirk, and he actually can’t tell if she’s kidding. She pats his chest. “But let me remind you, I DID hint from the start I had a part to play.”

Going up on tiptoe, she kisses Dick’s cheek, then wanders off to confer with what looks like the squad’s leader. She looks scarily at home holding a gun. Dick files the moment away for the spank bank, since it’s clear, now, she’s too badass to date him.

Logan moves up beside him, sweaty and starting to show bruises—though it’s pretty hard to tell how big they are, since the poor bastard’s currently bright green. “Was that Ruby JETSON?” he asks, running a hand through his short Navy hair. “I thought her leg was broken!”

Dick shrugs and mutters, “Women.” He figures that pretty much says it all.

VERONICA

A half hour of general chaos follows, during which super-soldiers are cuffed and hauled to quarantine, and Luke is led away in chains; her friends are herded up to the surface for individual debriefs, while the catacombs are quartered and searched. Veronica answers a tired commando’s questions to the best of her ability. Watches Logan joke, out of the corner of her eye, with a couple of armored guys who seem to know him.

When her story’s told she searches the crowd for Weevil, last spotted in an ambulance receiving first aid; she still has no clue what he was doing here, and curiosity’s her besetting sin. The ambulance hasn’t moved—Sean Friedrich, attached to a stretcher, is being loaded into it--but Weevil’s long gone. Probably he headed back to Neptune, away from all the authority figures with guns. V decides to stop by his shop on Monday. She needs help with a few more cases, and he’ll be easier to grill if she gets him alone.

Veronica DOES find Dick, sprawled morosely on the lawn with his back to a tree, a woman’s purse and grocery bag beside him. He’s still lobster-pink, in startling contrast to his yellow hair. Glancing around covertly to make sure they’re unobserved, she hisses to attract his attention, and administers a drop of antidote.

“Aw, I KNEW you cared.” Dick tilts his head back, letting the violent trembling that seems to be a side effect overtake him. Watches, amused, as she re-pockets the still-half-full vial. “Not planning to give that up to the brass?”

“Do YOU trust our government to use powerful drugs for the good of humanity?” She sits beside him. “I told them we drank it all. Besides, they’ve got the formula, if they really want to save people. If not—if some kind of cover-up takes place—I want as much proof as possible squirreled away, so I can create a counter-narrative.”

“You’ll need this, then.” Dick hands over the woman’s bag; Veronica frowns, because it looks just like hers from college. “It’s Ruby’s,” Dick explains, maybe reading her expression. “She disappeared and left it behind. Her cell’s dead, but there’s a video in ‘photos’ of Lydia, Sean and Jeff confessing to crimes.”

“Nice!” Veronica fishes out the heavily-bedazzled phone and pockets it. “Way to be a player on the noble team for a change.”

The commandos begin loading up their transports; the guy in charge approaches, followed by Logan leading Dad (who’s got a bandage around his head, but looks a lot more chipper). “Ms. Mars, Mr. Casablancas,” the officer greets them, admirably avoiding comment on their general greenness. “Is your vehicle on the lawn over there operational?”

Dick shrugs and looks to Veronica, who nods. Logan says, “I’ve got the keys, I’ll check,” and crosses to the SUV. A moment later, the engine revs, and he returns with a thumbs-up.

“Excellent,” Guy in Charge says. “What we need you to do is remove it from the premises immediately. Unofficially, this place will look like the surface of the moon in about half an hour, and we don’t want any debris found that point to your presence. As for the serum you absorbed through the skin--medic says you all seem healthy. But we’d like you to avoid contact with civilians for the night, just in case. If you report to the base in Coronado you’ll be given temporary rooms, and a full repeat eval in the morning. Maybe the docs can help with the…staining issue.” He glances over at Logan, just barely represses a snicker, and adds, “Good thing Echolls already has a girlfriend.”

Logan offers him a bland, yet still somehow sarcastic, return smile, and the guy grins. Shouts, “Move your asses, we’re Oscar Mike!” and climbs into the nearest vehicle. The military convoy moves slowly down the service road…accompanied, faintly, by the sound of some jackass singing “It Ain’t Easy Being Green.”

“Hoo-kay.” Logan dusts his hands together in a good-riddance gesture. “Anybody want to enjoy a re-enactment of my basic training days, insufficient-sleep version? Sounds like they have some uncomfortable cots and scratchy blankets with our names on them, waiting.”

“I’m doing concussion watch, so I’ll be in the sick bay,” Dad says, with a wry smile. “But I’d love a chance to lie down. It’s not every day an old guy like me helps his daughter wrestle evil masterminds.”

“Need a hand climbing up?” Logan asks. Dad waves him off and gets in alone. Logan takes the opportunity to grab Veronica and kiss her senseless, the sweet-but-promising-scorching variety that always gets her going. She sighs, happily, twining her arms around his neck…surprisingly unfazed that he DOES look vaguely Kermit-y.

Dick snorts disdain. Removes a blonde wig from the bag, which he slaps on his head, muttering, “Oh, Logan, do me, you’re so MANLY!” Reaches back in to locate an old wine bottle, which he uncorks and toasts them with in one economical motion. Lifts it to his mouth, sniffs…then tosses it away, repulsed.

“Pink goo,” he explains, examining his hand to make sure nothing got on him. “Maybe some of that super-old wine zombie-formula-ified when it spoiled? Lydia could have figured out her crackpot idea from there.”

Logan laughs, bends his head for another kiss. Which is when Piz comes rushing out of the woods, screaming, “RONKAAAAAA!” and tackles Dick sideways.

Veronica digs for her taser, before remembering she gave it to Mac; Keith calls, “What’s happening?” from the passenger seat, and attempts to get down. Logan runs straight towards the altercation (of course), but trips on a tree root. Piz begins humping a startled Dick with a fervency that’s truly disturbing.

“Dude, get OFF,” Dick shouts, an unfortunate choice of words, and fumbles for the purse beside him. Manages to remove a can of air before any of the rest of them can find a weapon, and sprays it directly into Piz’s eyes.

Captain Pinkness shrieks and scuttles back, and Dick follows, whacking him with a hammer. “Give it up, man!” he yells, striking Piz’s shoulder with a meaty crunch. “Veronica is NEVER going to date a guy who acts so needy!”

“YOU NOT LOVE LOGAN LIKE YOU LOVE MEEEE!” Piz screeches in response, deterred from romance by the viciously swinging hammer. He stares, panting, for a moment, angry longing of a thousand thwarted Nice Guys in his eyes; then turns and runs, past the barn and off into the distance, almost too fast to track.

He’s just reached the line of foliage near the cell tower when the first bomb hits. Both the fake tree and NPR’s Greatest Millennial Hope are abruptly reduced to a plume of white ash.

Veronica winces. Logan shouts, “We need to MOVE!” grabs her hand, and races for the car, Dick on their heels. They pile in. Executing the kind of tidy three-sixty only a jet pilot could, Logan guns it down the service road at top speed, the approaching apocalypse literally at their heels.

Bombs are going off in the rearview by the time they make it onto the highway--Veronica winces as incandescent flashes and sonic booms wipe the Van Vliet Experiment from existence. Sighs, as they gain distance and the noise fades, slumping back into her seat.

“Hey guys?” she asks, not opening her eyes. “Thanks for riding to the rescue when I didn’t make it home.”

“Protecting Veronica Mars is job one,” Logan says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “If you went and made it easy on us, life would be no fun.”

“Well in that case…” she says. “I won’t bother fake-promising never to do it again.”

“You gotta be you.” Dick elbows her from his position sprawled against the window. “Come on, let’s get to that base, see what they can do about this whole turning-green problem. Maybe Rubester will show up dressed like a naughty nurse and administer the treatment.”

“Ew,” Veronica says, but not with any heat. She stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankle. Drifts off as they speed down the road, the receding sound of explosions like a lullaby.

THE END

This concludes our VMHQ Round Robin / Campfire Tale story. We hope you all enjoyed this collaborative fic as much as we did. Many thanks to all the wonderful writers who participated, and all the wonderful readers who commented and reblogged the story posts. 

Next up at VMHQ is our Holiday Fic Grab Bag challenge, which will post on Christmas Eve! Submit your prompts to our Ask Box now, and maybe your favorite writer will be inspired!

[ao3feed-veronicamars]

What Goes Around...

by BryroseA

VMHQ gets together 26 of your favorite authors to tell one wacky story about our favorite heroine. What will happen? No one knows! Not even us...

Words: 785, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: Veronica Mars

Additional Tags: vmhq round robin fic, vmhq campfire tale, an improv fic, written by a massive author collaboration

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2pusTXq

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 26)

This is PART 26 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 26 is written by @ghostcat3000  

[Part 25]

Neptune is not a large town. A person could drive around and hit all the important corners in a little over an hour. They wouldn’t even need to speed. On one side, the ocean and the bended pines, the glassy, silvery wide half moon of a cove, surfers bobbing out to greet the waves, ducking their heads under the spume-curl. The other side—dry canyon brush, curved roads and boxy one-level ranch houses, stuck in some 1980’s decor time warp. To the south, all the poors and college kids living together in what passes for the hood in Neptune; chock full o’ check cashing places and liquor stores, always on the brink of conversion to cold coffee cafes and farm-to-table restaurants. Northside: formerly trailer parks and large undeveloped plots, now home to several boutique farms and wineries.

Most of them are closed now, all those grapes drying on the vine. Only one still in operation; the Van Vliet Winery. Running, not on grapes and weddings, but promise. The promise of power, the chance to get finally end up on top and win. Miles from Neptune’s center but seemingly a world away—no lights, no reception, only darkness and an occasional ribbon of warm wind—the epicenter of the revolution.

“Yo, Rubster. You have a great ass but HOLY SHIT, do you talk a lot.”

Ruby sighs and spins around, her long arms hanging loose at her sides. “Point is, we are out in the middle of fucking nowheresville. Our phones don’t work. We’re completely cut off from civilization. The pink zombie apocalypse could be happening, like, right now, and there’d be no way for us to know.”

“In the vineyard, no one can hear you thcream,” Sean lisps, then coughs, spitting down into the dry dirt beneath them. Somewhere between here and the tunnels, he appears to have lost another tooth. He brings up his hands to his face and rubs his nose with his palms; a frantic up and down scratch.

Dick flicks the back of Sean’s head with his free, non-gun-carrying hand. “No one asked for your input, douchecanoe. We're the ones with the firepower. Your job is to lead us to the girl and hope you get a plea deal.”

“What are we going to do when we find Katie? We can’t call for help and who knows when Logan will be back.” Ruby spins and stops, holding her cell phone at different angles. “Seriously what is the deal with the reception?” She casts a withering glance at Sean. “You realize this means you can’t call anybody either? You are not good at being bad guys.”

Sean shrugs. “The thell phone tower died. About three monthth ago. The community took the Van Vliets to court. Apparently, it wath never thupposed to be there tho it never got reactivated or whatever. We uthe the landlineth.” He tightens his lips together and looks away.

“Cell phone tower?” Ruby frowns.

Sean jerks his head forward, sighing with something like relief. “We’re headed right for it.”

Dick peers into the darkness. “That’s a tree, dude.”

“No. It’th not. It’th a thell phone tower dethigned to look like part of the foliage. It died. We don’t know why.” He rubs his nose again.

Ruby takes out a pair of binoculars from her Veronica bag. She peers through them, the wrong way around. “Is Katie near the cell tower?”

Sean doesn’t answer, keeps trudging along, rubbing his nose. Dick shoves him.

“Hey, numbnuts. Talk.”

“Yeth.”

Ruby lurches alongside Sean. She’s taller than he is, so the effect is predatory but also comical. “You had her here the whole time? Why?”

“Yeah, dude. Why run the risk of having her be found by the people you’re hiding her from? Where's the foresight?” Ruby and Sean stop walking near-simultaneously, turning slowly towards Dick.

“Hey,” Ruby says, stretching the vowels like a rubber band, approaching Dick. “You feeling okay?”

“Totes McGoats. But seriously, so much of this whole super soldier plan doesn’t make sense. You’re a sleazoid drug dealer-” “Video director,” Sean hisses.

“Sleazoid drug dealin’ video director. Who is more likely to be snorting the merchandise than selling it amirite?” Dick sniffs for effect.

“He’s got a point.”

“I’ve been clean for two months.” Sean pauses. “Okay, one.” He resumes the violent nose scratching.

Dick puts the gun down at his feet, digs around his front jean pocket, pulls out his weed and papers, and quickly rolls up with an exacting efficiency. He lights the joint and takes a deep drag, pausing to look at his fingers, smell them and shrug. “None of this adds up. You’re a joke, bro. You know who else is a joke? Your pharmacist. Mad Scientist Barbie creating super soldiers by day and clubbing with the rest of the ‘09ers at night? Her brother? Pass. Liam Fitzpatrick? As a recruiter? According to Logan, that guy is a psychopath who can barely run a mob, much less a globetrotting merc-creation operation.” He pauses to laugh. “That rhymed. Boss.”

He licks his teeth and takes another hit, “The whole using the near-abandoned winery as a base of operations is solid. I’ll give you that. This place is isolated as fuck and if anyone stumbles over here by accident, they’d be easy to contain. Throw ‘em in the tunnels. Wait. Are there..whatchamacallit...floor plans for the tunnels? There's gotta be a bigger section we missed.”

“Floor planth?” Sean’s eyes trained on the gun at Dick’s feet.

“Yeah, like a room where, if this wasn't a weird ass Bond-meets-Living-Dead movie type of winery, but like a romantic comedy with Ryan Reynolds as me and I’m at a wedding and I found the perfect underground room full of wine barrels to bang the bridesmaid played by the hot Swedish chick in Mr. Robot.” Dick pauses to do some pelvic thrusts and mimed ass slaps. He stops and points at Sean. “Blueprints. That's the word. How much you wanna bet we find a whole room of pink goo coffins up in that bitch? Whaaaat.”

Ruby motions to the joint burning between Dick’s pinkish fingers, “Can I have some of that? Keep talking.”

He passes the joint to Ruby. She takes a hit and nods. He returns her nod with a slower nod.

“This operation is half genius and half muy ‘est-too-pih-toe’. The parts don't match. Taking a little girl as a hostage. That does sound like a mob thing. Intimidation and whatnot. Is it long-term though?” Dick squints and grimaces. “Not really. But keeping her here, keeping her close? Knowing exactly where to hold her so that she’s not easily found? By the people providing you with the goods? I don’t know, bro. That’s next level.”

“It wath my idea,” Sean says smugly.

“Sounds fake but okay. The Irish mobster? Chhhyeah, again I'm gonna say no to that too. I can see House of Pain getting into guns to go with his drugs but soldiers? It's too… ambitious.”

“This isn’t working on me like it is on you,” Ruby says, still nodding but returning the joint back to Dick, whose narrowed eyes are nearly shut from the exertion of his thoughts. “Why Nice Guys?”

“Why Nice Guys? Dude, that's one of the parts I don’t get. They won’t be loyal, like all good soldiers need to be, all they want is revenge. But what would Fitzpatrick know about that? I think what really happened is Toothless and his pals decided to…what do you call it when you try to make stuff cooler?”

He snaps his fingers and Ruby jumps up.

“Ooh. Innovate?”

“Yeah. That. Like I said, not smart. Know your workforce.”

Sean sighs. “I read Flowerth for Algernon. It doethnt end well.”

“Whatevs, nerd. There’s got to be better options. Like cops. Neptune’s got plenty. Or actual soldiers maybe. Like Logan. You just gotta get ‘em all here at once. Dump the goop on them and BOOM, army, yo.”

“Dick.” Ruby says, her eyes going wide.

“Whoa. This is some good shit, right. I feel like, smart.”

“Can I be high too?”

“Shut it, Sean. Unless you can explain everything this-” Ruby bats her eyes at Dick. “...wise man is saying, you’re not allowed to speak.”

She takes the joint back from his outstretched hand and blows the smoke back in his face. “And what about this terrorism stuff happening in San Diego? Are they stealing cops?”

“Maybe it’s the mercs.”

“Maybe. Oh shit. Delayed reaction.” Dick turns to Sean in a slow heel-swivel. “He said community. The community sued the Van Vliets. What community? There’s no community for miles.”

Sean has been shuffling away from them, backwards, in the direction of the dead cell phone tower.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ruby barks.

“My new tooth thtub is quite sharp.” Sean holds his hands up, they are free of tape. “And you're not going to shoot that gun and draw unnecessary attention to yourself. See you later, moronth.”

He runs for less than a minute. No more, no less, twenty seconds of scurrying and poof. Like a climactic comic book panel, he drops out of sight. Dick doesn't even have enough time to pick up the gun.

“What the fuck.”

Sean’s scream is high, hysterical and also, muted, dampened. Ruby and Dick hesitantly approach the sound.

“The ground ate him.”

Dick gulps. “Are we in a horror movie now?” Absentmindedly, he pinches the ends of his joint, puts it in his front pocket, and picks up the gun.

The closer they get to Sean’s screams the more they see that the part of the road they thought was road was not. It’s a hole, leaves surrounding the edge of the drop. At the bottom, sits Sean, his leg twisted underneath him in a backwards L-shape. His screams are thinning out, turning to whimpers. Next to him is a man, eyes wide and surprised, a sharpened pole going through his neck like a kebab.

“That sucks,” Dick intones.

“Yeah,” Ruby breathes out, a hand at her throat.

“Get me the fuck out of heeeeere!”

Dick leans down to look into the pit. It’s not as deep as he’d previously thought, maybe ten feet. There are roots sticking out of the edges, like little grasping fingers, useless to someone falling in; nothing to stop the descent or hold on to. At the bottom of the pit there is a single line of stakes. Sean managed to miss it when he landed. The other man, not as lucky.

“It’s like those things that cops lay out in the road to blow out tires.” Ruby kneels down alongside him.

“Oh yeah, but like huge.”

“It's kind of cool.”

“What the fuck! There’s a dead body in here. I know this guy. GET ME OUT.”

Ruby takes out a pair of eyeglasses from her bag and puts them on. She peers down into the pit. “I don’t see a ladder. Do you, Dick?”

“Nope.”

“COME ON.”

“Sorry, Stubby. We can’t get down there.”

Sean’s whimpers become sobs. Ruby digs into her bag and pulls out a small pack of kleenex, she throws it in. “I guess since you didn’t know about the Death Pit, you’re less in the know than you thought.”

“What she said.”

Ruby shoots Dick a baleful look. “Sean. We can’t get you out right now. But you need to keep your part of the bargain. Tell us where Katie is so we can go get her. Once we do that, we’ll come back with help. Okay?”

A small, broken little yes rises up. Ruby straightens up and dusts her hands. “Where are we going?”

“Thraight ahead. To the thell phone tower. Thereth a thmall cabin behind it, hidden in the pineth.”

“Thank you, Sean. I promise, we will come back.”

Ruby takes Dick’s arm and they walk around the pit. Dick leans in and whispers in her ear. “We’re not though, right?”

“Ugh, you smell like pee.”

Dick does his best Blue Steel. “Are you negging me right now? ‘Cause it’s working, babe.”

Without discussing it, they start walking by the side of the road. Shoulder to shoulder, tight and quiet. Before long, Sean’s whimpers can barely be heard; ahead of them, where the taller trees give way to a small clearing, there’s the faint sound of music. Dick points the gun in front of them, completely focused.

“I wish I had a gun too,” Ruby murmurs.

“I wish I had a crossbow. And a red turtle shell.”

Ruby shushes him, but holds his free hand tight enough to hurt. They arrive.

Up close, the disguised cell phone tower looks less like a pine tree and more like an enormous mascara brush. At the top of the tower, jutting out from the fake greenery are the metal arms, useless and rusted. A tiny white cement house sits at the base of the cell tower, a squat square behind a locked fence.

Dick tests the strength of the fence. “Should we bust in?”

“No, we need to find the house where they’re keeping Katie.”

The music they’d heard from the path comes from behind the trees. As they get closer, the melody becomes recognizable.Tell it to my heart, tell me I’m the only one, is it really love or just a game? a woman moans, with the urgency of a UTI at Sunday brunch.

“That is not cool.” Ruby whispers and straightens the set of her shoulders, as if preparing to charge, walking towards the trees and the darker darkness beyond them.

The cabin is painted in shades of muted browns and grays, and seeing it, head on, it looks tiny. It isn’t until they’re right up to it, that they realize that as narrow as it is in the front, it goes deep. It’s mostly dark, except for the windows which glow dimly behind red curtains. There's a pick-up truck parked there, the tire tracks in the mud behind it showing a large curving last minute turn.

The song ends. A few moments later, it starts again. Dick and Ruby nod at each other and approach the front, silent and fast. Dick gets there first and when he puts his hand on the handle of the screen door, he turns to Ruby and holds up his hand. Stop. She doesn’t. When he steps inside, she goes right after.

The walls are wood paneled and the floors are hardwood as well. Bob Ross-style paintings hang on the wall and an incongruously cheery beige-and-brown plaid couch facing the door, a red velvet pillow stitched with the words Shattered Dreams. Across from the couch, a TV set to a Spotify playlist with only one song, Tell It To My Heart blares. Free from the outside vista, the volume is even more unnerving.

Dick goes over to the television and picks up a remote, looks at the buttons, then points it at the screen. Ruby rushes over, “Don’t-”

He clicks it off. “What?”

A telephone rings out shrilly. Dick shoots into the floor and both of them jerk into high-pitched screams, the sound dying in their throats at the next ring. And the one after that.

“Should we answer it?” Ruby asks, throat dry.

“Fuck no.”

A fourth ring.

“Or maybe yes. Man. I’m too high for this shit.”

“Me too. Give me the gun.”

He hands it to her. Five rings, six, seven. They follow the sound of ringing to a console table in the hallway. It’s got a lime green rotary phone on it; cheerful and strange and utterly terrifying. The ringing stops. Dick picks it up anyway. Even a few steps away, Ruby hears the dial tone. And three soft knocks.

“Whoa, did you hear that?” Dick knocks three times on the receiver. “Hello?”

“No, Dick. It’s coming from down there.” Ruby rushes down the hallway and Dick follows behind. There’s three little knocks again, coming from the last door on the left.

“Whoever you are,” Ruby’s voice pitches a little higher. “Name yourself. We're armed. And dangerous!”

“Yeah, we know kung fu, sucker!” Dick chops at the air with his hands and kicks out.

“Stop it, you buffoon.”

A soft voice, as soft of those knocks says, “Ruby?”

“Katie?! Sweetie? Are you okay?”

“The door is locked. I can’t get out.”

Ruby bends her head and peers at the padlock.

“Hold on, honey. Auntie Ruby will be right back.” She turns to Dick, hands him the gun, saying “Stay here. Put the thing on that keeps it from shooting. Keep her calm,” before rushing down the hall, bag jingling.

Dick slips the gun in his waistband and leans in to speak through the door. “Hey there. What’s up?”

“Hi. Who are you?”

“I’m Dick. Uh, Ruby’s friend.”

“I’m Katie.”

“You okay in there?”

“I’m a little hungry.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we can get a burger or something after this?”

“Okay.”

Ruby returns with a little straw and a hammer. She hands Dick the hammer.

“Step aside.”

She removes a can of air from her purse, shakes it furiously and sticks the straw in. Angling the straw into the lock, she sprays until she drops the can. Using the hem of her t-shirt, she picks it up and sprays some more until the lock goes from silvery to white. Ruby grabs the hammer from Dick and brings it up high and down hard, just once, on the frozen lock, which splits in two pieces and onto the floor.

“Look at you, Rubster McGruber!”

They high five.

“Veronica Mars isn’t the only one with skills,” she drawls, flipping her hair.

With a flourish, fingers spread like a spider, Ruby pushes the door open. Inside, in an old fashioned wheelchair that leans slightly to one side, sits a young girl with long, wavy blonde hair, big brown eyes and a tiny, pointed chin. Ruby bends down and hugs her fiercely.

“How long have you been in here?”

“I don't know. Usually they let me move around the house. But this morning, Andy wheeled me in and said I had to stay here all day. Then that song kept playing and it was horrible.”

“I know, that song gives me nightmares. There's always someone murdering it at Karaoke and not in a good way. Who’s Andy?”

“The man that brings me my food. There's a lady too, Julie. She helped me with bathroom stuff.”

“Gross.”

Ruby kicks Dick in the shin.

Down the hall the phone rings again. They stop and listen, barely breathing. It rings six times, and stops. Dick puckers his lips into a silent, extended no which transforms into a wide grin.

“Hey, I’m remembering that this place sucks and we need to get out of here, pronto.”

“Yeah, let’s. We should use that nightmare phone to call the cops.”

“You can't,” Katie says. “You need a code to dial out.”

“Of course there is. Honey, can this wheelchair get you to the front door?”

“No. They took away my real chair.”

“I see. I’m going to carry you out then. Dick, hold my purse. We’re gonna hotwire that car outside and save this little girl.”

“You got it, hot stuff. You sure you can handle it?”

“I'm stronger than I look. Let's go.”

They speed through the house, Dick leading the way, Ruby close behind with Katie in her arms, and go out the back, through a small kitchen that smells strongly of paint.

It’s cooler outside and when Dick opens the driver’s side door, a very pink Liam Fitzpatrick tumbles out right out onto the ground, eyes open and dried froth around his mouth, dead-as-a-doornail dead.

“Holy shit!”

“Holy shit!” Ruby repeats after Dick, then looks at Katie. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, dad says that all the time.”

“Cool. Cool. Dick, open the passenger side door. Quickly. Katie, sweetie, don’t look at the corpse. At least I think it’s a corpse.”

“It is.” Dick kicks Liam’s body. “Ouch.”

Ruby places the girl into the car, Katie uses her arms to shift to middle of the front seat.

“Dick, check his pockets for car keys. And grab his wallet too. There might be something important in there. Clues and whatnot.”

“Do I have to?” He throws Ruby’s purse next to Katie.

“What?” Ruby says, clicking Katie’s seatbelt in place.

“I said, you have guns, lady. What do you do to stay in shape?”

“Boxing and modern dance.”

Liam Fitzpatrick looks different than his picture in the paper. His hair graying at the temple and while generally trim, the skin on his face sags at the jawline like a bulldog. A pink-hued bulldog, bloated and shockingly bright. One hand clutches the air, a claw, the other is pressed tight in a fist. Near the knuckle, there’s a tiny bit of metal. Dick swallows the nerves and unpeels Fitzpatrick’s swollen fingers back like a gross banana. In the center of his palm are the car keys.

Inside the house, the phone starts ringing again. Staring at Fitzpatrick’s lifeless eyes, Dick sees his own reflection and with every ring, feels less and less like himself. Like he’s disappearing into the sound of the ringtone.

“Did you find them?” Ruby stands next to him, hands at her waist. She blows her hair out of her face and widen her eyes meaningfully.

Dick dangles the keys up to the light.

Inside the house, the phone stops ringing, after five rings this time.

“Is this a countdown?” Ruby swallows. “Don't forget his wallet.”

A phone chimes, closer at hand. A cell phone.

“Dick. Your phone is ringing. Answer your phone. Dick?!”

“What?”

He throws Liam’s wallet at her.

“Your phone!”

He pats his pockets and pulls out his iPhone. The screen reads Unknown Number. Dick hits answer call and locks eyes with Ruby who holds her clasped hands to her mouth.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Uh, is this Dick?”

“Uhyeeees.” Dick nods at Ruby, who nods back, and pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

“Hi, um, I’m Detective Leo D’Amato. We haven’t met.”

“I know you. You’re the dude Veronica was working for. You can’t intimidate me, dude. I know my rights and also that you’re EVIL.”

“What? No. Listen, I’m in the hospital. My partner, Wei Breitski, shot me and left me for dead. I have reason to believe that he’s either running or helping to run some kind of drug operation out of Neptune. Is Veronica okay? Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah, she left with your dirty partner to go find the antidote for the pink goo for Wallace?”

“What? I’ve been trying to call her. I need to speak to her. This is very important. She has to-”

“Wait. How do I know you’re not playing us?”

“Yeah!” Ruby yells.

“Who’s that?”

“Ruby.”

The phone cuts off abruptly. A moment later it rings again. A facetime call.

Dick accepts and Det. D’Amato’s face fills the screen. Half of his face is swollen and he’s got bruises around his eyes, like a panda mask. He’s wearing a hospital gown and is lit in the sad, sallowing way of hospitals.

“You look like shit, bro.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

“How did you have my number?”

“Veronica gave me a list of contact numbers, you were on it.”

“Aaaaw, Ron Ron.”

“Barf.”

“What did you say?”

“Barf. Veronica told me to say that in case you called her Ronnie, Ron Rons or Ronniekin.”

“Bitch knows me. What can I say?”

“Charming.”

“Was that Ron’s too?”

“No, that was me. Look, you don’t have much time. The so-called street uprisings I was told to investigate turned out to be bogus. Falsely reported incidents meant to distract us from the real problem. The-”

Leo’s face freezes.

“Dude, I can’t hear you? See you?”

“-You have to tell Veronica-” Leo cuts out and back in again. “The soldiers will get a modified formula, a refinement to make them dumber, more compliant, less likely to question things.”

“WHOA, I have a solid plan for that. I got this super weed and I’m going to smoke them all up and make them smart again.” The screen freezes on Detective D’Amato’s look of open-mouthed confusion. It unfreezes. “Okay, you do that. I’m going to call in my boys in San Diego and also the couple of guys at the Neptune PD who aren’t-” D’Amato freezes again. “Get as far from that winery as possible. Don’t let-” Freeze. “Pink.” Freeze. “Touch-” Freeze. “Got that?”

“Like almost none of it, dude.”

“Great.”

Ruby snatches the phone from Dick. “Hey, you. I’m Ruby. Give me proof that you’re one of the good guys. How do we know you’re in a real hospital, even? You could be lying.”

D’Amato does a reverse shot and gives them a shot of his hospital room.

“Not good enough. Show me your ass.” “Excuse me?” The phone returns back to his face in time to catch a raised eyebrow.

“Your ass. Show it. If you’re really in a hospital, you’ll be commando under there.”

“Like me!” Dick offers.

“Fine.”

Leo jostles out of frame and there, frozen on the screen, a pale ass cheek.

The Face Time call drops.

“Fuuuuc-I mean-udge,” Ruby looks over her shoulder at Katie. “The battery on my phone crapped out. Can you call anybody?”

Dick goes through his phone list. Logan, Veronica, everybody—nobody picks up.

“Okay. Veronica’s cop friend’s partner is evil. We knew that. She might be dead. I have to save the world.”

“No. Logan is with Veronica. He’ll protect her with his life. Oh no.”

“Oh no.”

“He’ll protect her with his life!” They shout simultaneously and run to the pick-up truck.

They drive back towards the barn by following the tire tracks out to the main road in silence. When the main buildings of the winery become visible, they kill the lights and go off road, wobbling slowly in the dark towards the barn.

“What are we going to do?” Katie asks.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But Dick might drive you into town. I have to stay.”

“Fuck that! You need to go. I’ll stay.”

“Dick! Language.”

The door to the pick-up truck opens suddenly. Before any of them can scream, the wide-eyed blonde puts a fingers to their lips.

“Shhhh. I think I lost him but he’s insanely fast.”

“Daddy?”

Rooks takes off the wig and leans over Ruby to hug Katie tight. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Where were you? I was so worried.”

“I’m okay, Daddy. There’s bad stuff happening.”

Dick glances at Ruby over their heads. She rolls her eyes and shrugs, in a what-can-you-do? sort of way, then grabs the fabric of Rook’s shirt and shakes him to attention.

“Rooks.” Ruby whispers. “We’re going to give you the car keys. You have to get Katie out of here. Dick and I need to stay and kick ass. You got it? You and I will never be okay, you know why, but go, take care of your daughter. Don’t fuck this up. Also, you owe me a leather jacket.”

“Oh man, you don’t want it. That monster... grabbed it and uh, got intimate. I left him with it, used the moment to get away.” Rooks dries his eyes. “Wait. What? What’s going on?”

“You have to go, guy. NOW. And, uh, gimme that.” Dick grabs the wig from Rooks. “I might need it.”

“Katie, sweetie, you think you can tell your dad how to get back the way we came?”

“Yes.”

Ruby hugs her and Katie, softly says, “Thank you.”

“You got it, kid.”

They watch them drive off in the dark.

“You know what’s weird.” Dick says, stroking the blonde wig in his arms as if it was a Persian cat.

“What?”

“All these people, all these freaks, you, Logan, Rooks, Sean… They’re are all connected to Carrie in some way.”

“You think I’m a freak?” Ruby’s big eyes catch all the moonlight.

“Oh, I know you’re a freak.” Dick shimmies around her, grinding and whisper-singing UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ.

She doesn’t move at all, her arms folded tight across her chest.

“In high school, you used to say I smelled like wet bathing suit.”

Dick laughs. Ruby doesn’t. He stops.

“You said I would die alone in a dress made of banana peels.”

“What? Dude.”

Dick kicks at a patch on the ground.

“I was an asshole and didn’t know shit. Okay? I paid for it. Believe me. I’m sorry.”

They walk towards the barn. In the distance, there’s a howl. The Pizmonster can’t be too far behind.

“Okay. We have a gun and a hammer and we are super fucking smart.”

“Fuck yeah. So what do we do?”

Ruby swats at a buzzing insect near her ear. “We look for those landlines, plural, that Sean mentioned. I know they said that all the wires were cut but they're all, like total liars, so there has to be another one like back at the cabin. Maybe in another one of the buildings?”

“Right.” “And we keep an eye out for Logan. Protect him.”

Dick nods. “You’re a cool chick, Rubster. But I got to tell you, Logan will never quit V-Mars. She’s his… heart.”

Ruby breathes in. “I know. But I have my part to play. ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do’ and all that jaaaaaazz.”

“Yeah. Man, I’m hot. Are you hot?”

“No.”

Dick holds his hand up, the nerve endings on his fingertips are dancing with electricity.

“Hey, Dick. Look, isn’t that Veronica’s dad’s car?” They move towards the car in a low-to-the-ground undercover crouch and peer in the window—there’s nobody inside. There is no sign of anyone around, no footsteps or voices. Only wind.

“There’s a note.”

On the dashboard, in left-slanted all-caps letters—I HAVE YOUR FATHER, MS. MARS.  DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by…  @cheshirecatstrut  Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, November 1st.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 27a)

This is PART 27a of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 27a is written by @cheshirecatstrut 

[Part 26]

PART I: REUNION

VERONICA

“Oh SHIT,” Veronica whispers, meeting her father’s gaze. “Wei’s in on it with them!”

She takes off speed-walking towards the lying SOB, who’s wandered away from the group—to do what, she’s not sure, maybe berate him until he cries, because how DARE HE? But Dad grabs her arm.

“You can’t,” he warns. “Wei doesn’t know we know, and right now, that’s our only advantage. He’s the one who called these cops—we might be witnessing a cover-up right now, not an investigation.”

She reverses direction, but he doesn’t let go…instead, he draws her away from the crowd. “Veronica, you can’t tell Logan either, he’s still set to transmit. If ALL the background chatter in Wei’s earpiece falls silent, the guy’s bound to get suspicious.”

V nods reluctant agreement. Logan’s currently holding Lydia so Norris can cuff her, while discussing antidote-formulating techniques with Mac (using analogies to Powerpuff Girls). “So when Wei mentioned he killed a cop…do you think he meant LEO?”

“Honey…” Keith sighs. “I’m sorry, but we have to assume that’s true. This whole situation is much graver than we realized. We can’t trust the information Wei gave us, except the part about a corrupt Neptune PD, and we have very little other data. We need the help of more reliable authorities.”

“And what would motivate reliable authorities to work with us?” She frowns as a Neptune deputy wanders past. “The enemy’s taken charge already--I’m sure they’re erasing leads as we speak.”

“Can you trust me?” Keith gives her the patient look she dreads, unconsciously checking his shoulder holster.

She crosses her arms. “I already hate this plan.”

Gently, he untucks her hand, places the remote in it, and curls her fingers around. “I’m armed, I’ve got my wits about me, and we still have the element of surprise. Plus, Norris Clayton hasn’t left; and whatever his faults, aggression-wise, I’m sure that young man isn’t crooked. He’ll help me put Wei, Jeff and Lydia in jail where they belong. You and Logan should take the antidote back to Wallace, then get him to a hospital.”

He’s right, Veronica knows he’s right, but that doesn’t make leaving him behind easier. Flinging her arms around his neck, she murmurs, “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, honey,” he says. “And don’t worry so much. No lowlife’s managed to best me yet.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she reminds him, but manages a smile. “I’m a grown-up now, though, and a full Mars Investigations partner. Tough moments like this one come with the territory.”

She kisses him on the cheek, turns, and strides confidently to Dick’s SUV. Makes a point of not looking back.

KEITH

“When COULDN’T you handle the tough moments?” Keith murmurs, watching her retreat. “With aplomb, even?”

He pats his gun once more for luck as Logan’s ‘What’s wrong?’ is abruptly silenced—darling daughter’s no doubt filling her boyfriend in via Morse code. A moment later, Dick Casablancas’ SUV squeals away… en route, full speed, to save another underdog.

Keith’s never completely trusted the Echolls kid, despite his Navy-facilitated turnaround; he’s got a better soul than Aaron, but fronts with the same practiced smarm. Logan would undoubtedly take a bullet for Veronica, though…and tonight, that’s company Keith wants his only child keeping.

A quick look around verifies Breitski’s across the lot, discussing ways to keep this fiasco out of the news with an apparently-crooked deputy. He’s got his back turned, so Keith pops the hood on his Camry, saws the alternator belt almost in half with a pocket knife, and quickly plants a tracker. Then he closes up, and goes hunting for Norris Clayton.

The over-competent former juvenile delinquent is easy to spot. Not only does he tower above everybody else on scene, he’s the only guy doing his job. A morose Jeff and a stridently-yelling Lydia are cuffed in the back of his cruiser already, and he’s doggedly filling out paperwork.

“Got a minute?” Keith asks, gesturing with his head to beckon Clayton away from the perps. To his credit, the kid doesn’t hesitate. Just tosses his clipboard into the driver’s seat and obligingly saunters closer.

“Problem?” Norris asks, with typical bluntness. Faintly, Keith smiles.

“You could say that,” he agrees, rueful. “Breitski’s dirty on a Federal scale, and so are most of your co-workers. He plans to run off with your bickering perps under pretense of booking them, and you’re the only person I can trust to help stop him.”

“What do you need me to do?” Clayton asks, watching as Breitski pats his pal on the shoulder and approaches.

“Just follow my lead,” Keith says. “And make whatever face is your version of a bland smile.”

“Mr. Mars,” Breitski calls, adjusting his fedora as he approaches—Keith should have known he was a jerk from the start, wearing a hat like that. “I need a favor. Can I commandeer your car to take the Van Vliets to San Diego? The Sheriff’s too busy to arrange transport, and you live close enough to call a cab.”

“Sure,” Keith says easily, handing over his keys. “Anything to help the course of justice run smooth. Just have someone drop it at Mars Investigations when you’re done?”

“You bet!” Wei winks and grins—Keith half-expects a tongue-click and finger-gun. “And please, convey my thanks to your daughter, will you? This case has been a bear. Without her assistance, no way could we have caught these masterminds.”

“Veronica’s impressive,” Keith agrees, allowing his hand to be shaken. “I’m biased, of course, but many impartial sources agree.”

Wei transfers the suddenly-subdued Jeff and Lydia into the Camry, takes off with a finger-to-hat-brim salute. Keith waits until they’re out of sight, listening with a faint head shake to Lydia shrieking because Liam Fitpatrick tried to murder her. Wei tells her Liam’s been handled, and she should be glad she’s not in jail.

Then Keith pulls a bug tracker from the pocket of his overcoat, checks to make sure it’s working, and gestures for Norris to join him in the patrol car.

“Follow that dot.” He suctions the tracker to the dash and points at the interactive map. “And stay far enough back Breitski can’t spot us—he may be unethical, but he’s no fool.”

“You want to tell me what, exactly, this Federal conspiracy is?” Norris asks, once they’re driving through the dark a half mile behind Wei. “Or wait, let me guess…it involves that new drug making people pink and violent. It’s been pouring out of Orange County lately. A minor Fitzpatrick died all popsicle-colored in lockup, about two weeks ago. I was warned off asking for details.”

“Good instincts,” Keith says. “Apparently this substance makes people strong and fast, but it’s also highly toxic—the one victim I’ve seen is in bad shape. Brietski’s wearing an earbud he’s not aware is transmitting, and it sounds like a coup against Liam Fitzpatrick, the mastermind, is in progress.”

Clayton nods, impassive as always--Keith frowns and focuses on eavesdropping as Wei answers a call. “Yes, I hear you, the alarm’s going off soon. Keep your fucking pants on. I’ll head right over, as soon as Jeff and Lydia are squared away.”

“Are you sure Fitzpatrick’s in charge?” Clayton asks, interrupting Keith’s mental run-down of possible alarms. “Because I realize back in the Van Lowe days, he had some sway with the Neptune PD. But the Irish mob is on the downswing lately, influence-wise. And I got the impression, based on the vehemence with which I was chased off, that someone rich and powerful is pulling strings.”

Keith holds up a hand for silence as Wei’s earbud picks up the sound of an engine, coughing and seizing. Winces, hoping his Camry doesn’t throw a rod. “Something’s wrong,” Wei says, accompanied by a grinding noise as the car stalls. “Shit, shit, shit, I need to hitch a ride.”

“Who in their right mind would pick us up?” Lydia screeches, her voice making Keith wince. “We’re both handcuffed, I’m covered in gasoline, and my shoes exploded along with the warehouse!”

“Good point,” Wei says, and follows up calmly with two gunshots. Keith gasps and grabs the dash for balance. “Guess you’ve both outlived your usefulness. Consider that your pension.”

“I think Breitski just shot Jeff and Lydia,” Keith tells Clayton, who kicks on the sirens and floors it in response. He reports a possible homicide over the radio as they surge full speed up a hill.

Just past the crest, their headlights splash over a male figure, braced in a two-handed gun stance mid-road, sidearm aimed. Clayton--spurred, maybe by the simmering aggression that once earned him a stint in juvie--speeds up in response, and Keith braces grimly for impact. But Breitski just shoots, creating a spiderweb of cracks in the bulletproof windshield, then JUMPS, higher than the most sought-after NBA draft-pick could manage. And lands on the hood of the cruiser with a thud.

Norris goes into a skid, tagging the Camry’s bumper as he slides by; his muttered “Holy…” is interrupted by a fist smashing through the windshield. Bloody fingers grab the jagged edge, yanking the whole rectangle loose, and the half-shattered sheet flies off into the night. Breitski reaches back in, catching Clayton by the shirtfront while he fumbles for his gun, and hauls him out, too.

Keith lunges for the wheel, manages to turn the car and stomp the brakes before they crash into roadside woods. Watches, horrified, as Breitski hurls Clayton against a pine trunk. Keith’s only ally slides bonelessly to the ground, and stays there, prone.

He opens the door to run for it, but is lifted out before he can…hoisted full-arm’s-length by Breitski, who’s standing on the hood. He dangles, held by the lapels of his coat; the blue-and-red emergency lights strobe Breitski’s face as he smiles.

“Not all the super soldiers are pink and dumb, I’m afraid,” he says, and gives Keith an admonishing shake. “The secondary formula’s for a specific purpose--it’s designed to be IN-effective, and eventually terminal. Now, I need you to nap while I jury-rig your alternator belt—a battered cop car won’t blend on the road to the winery. Say goodnight, Gracie.”

His other fist swings up, fast as regrets, catching Keith square in the temple. Shortly after which, everything goes black.

STORYLINE 2: WEEVIL WALLACE

Weevil loves his bike a lot—it’s a guilty, rebel-youth pleasure he thought he’d never enjoy again--but road-trip monotony is a bitch.

He’s been driving through the dark for half an hour; Fennel’s groans have subsided ominously into silence, broken only by the engine’s growl. Today’s already featured ten hours under car hoods, a fight about visitation with his soon-to-be-ex, and of course, the usual Mars nonsense. He’d pay a grand for one of those sugar-bomb Starbucks coffees right now, some pumpkin spice seasonal bullshit, followed by a couple stiff drinks. But instead he’ll be napping in the CDC waiting room, and roll home just in time to open the shop.

Faintly, at the horizon, he spots red-blue strobes flashing, and curses under his breath—if a cop’s burning to pull someone over, a pink guy duct taped to a biker will make his night. But there’s only one road, and Fennel needs help, so Weevil clenches his teeth Veronica-style and keeps on going.

As he approaches, it becomes obvious something’s wrong; the car’s slewed sideways blocking traffic, windshield shattered ten feet away, driver door hanging open. There’s blood splattered on the hood. Something ugly went down, and Weevil wants no part of it—he’s tightening his fingers on the gas when he realizes fleeing’s impossible.

Norris Clayton, Veronica’s deputy friend, is crawling slowly along the asphalt towards the radio, bleeding from the back of the head. His face turns sideways, slo-mo, to watch hopefully as Weevil slows. “Nav…ro,” he manages, barely audible over the bike’s idle. Then, gathering himself to try harder, “VerONica.”

“I can’t help you, man,” Weevil calls, frustrated. “I can barely dismount unless you cut me loose. I’m duct-taped to Fennel, here, and he ain’t doing so hot.”

“Yeah, he’s…pink,” Norris observes, managing to sit up and fish in his pocket. Locates a switchblade, which he holds out. “This big enough to saw through?”

Wallace rouses, babbles something incomprehensible, and Norris adds, “Veronica found the antidote. She’s on her way back to the winery now…might already be there.”

Shit. “She couldn’t call?” Weevil asks, rhetorically, putting the bike in park as close to Clayton as possible. He lifts with his legs to hoist himself off, Fennel dangling limply. Accepting the knife with a smirk, he adds, “You know, other than the uniform, you haven’t changed much.”

Twisting sideways painfully, he begins to saw at the tape--Norris crawls behind him to brace Wallace. “Learned to control my temper,” Norris says, and Weevil can just see him gingerly prodding the back of his skull. “Fucker threw me against a TREE. Breitski—he’s on something strong. Haven’t seen Keith since I woke up, either…odds are good he’s a hostage.”

Weevil cuts the last of the tape, and between them they get Wallace prone on the roadside. The guy looks bad, head thrashing, foaming at the mouth. The sideways glance Clayton flashes says he agrees.

“Can you stand up?” Weevil asks. “Get yourself in the passenger seat? I can lift Fennel into the back, he’s a little dude, but you gotta weigh like two hundred pounds.”

Clayton braces his hand on the fender and pushes upright…tumbles sideways, catches himself. “Dizzy,” he says, rueful. “I’ve got a bitch of a concussion, but I’ll live. Put him in the car and go hide your bike. We’ll discuss how deep the shit drowning us is on the way to Van Vliet’s.”

“It’s a LAKE, man,” Weevil warns, but obligingly hoists Wallace. “I’m actually disappointed for once you can’t fight. Tonight, those fists of fury of yours would come in handy.”

VERONICA

“Well, if this was Gilligan’s Island, we could solve the whole problem with extract of coconut,” Mac is saying, buckling her seatbelt as V climbs into the SUV. “But since it’s REALITY, there’s actual science involved in producing a cure.”

“If this was Gilligan’s Island,” Logan drawls, fishing for keys, “the events of the day would be an amusing misunderstanding, thanks to Gilligan falling in a vat of papaya juice. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure Wallace…” he frowns as he notices V’s expression. “Hey, pumpkin, what’s wr…”

She slaps a palm over his mouth, gestures for Mac to hand over the iPad she ripped off from the winery. Pulls up the word processor and types, “Wei’s dirty, and he’s listening to everything you say. Your stupid earbud’s set to transmit.”

Logan’s eyes widen in understanding. “Wow,” he improvises, smacking his lips like they’ve been kissing. “We’ve only been apart two minutes. I guess it really is true what they say about danger being an aphrodisiac.”

Mac gestures for the tablet, and says as she types, “Your fault, for running around with no shirt all day, acting brawny and heroic. Although please, next time? Have some respect for my innocent eyes and take it outside.”

She hands the pad back, and V and Logan cluster together to read. “What should we do? We can’t trust the Neptune PD to help, and Wallace needs that antidote ASAP.”

Veronica types, “Dad and your new boyfriend Norris will handle Wei. We’re making tracks for the winery, and trying to breathe through stress.”

Logan winks, starts the engine, and says, “I could really go for an In-and-Out burger, you two game? Mac, do their fries pass muster in vegetarian circles?”

He pulls out onto the highway heading back towards Van Vliet’s. Mac’s reply--“I’ve been cheating death all evening. I’m willing to ignore a little lard,”--is interrupted by the chime of Logan’s cell.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he registers the unknown sender and lifts his brows at Veronica. She shakes her head, pointing at her earbud; frowns as Wei says something about an alarm going off. A dig through her bag confirms she’s also received an unknown call, so she holds up a finger and retrieves the message.

“Veronica?” Leo D’Amato’s voice filters thinly through, poor connection with a side of mechanical beeping. “Listen, I hate to leave important stuff on voicemail, but I keep calling down your list, and the only person I can reach is Dick. I just need you to know Brietski’s in with the drug runners—and I’m sure of this, he shot me in what would have been my heart if I hadn’t ducked. Also, the shenanigans at the Van Vliet’s are a bigger deal than I thought, when I sent you to dig for the missing safe. I’ve just had a visit from some pissed-off military brass. So just…contact Bob Dillen at the San Diego PD if you need rescuing, he’s definitely honest. And stay away from the winery--not to mention anyone lurking there who might be…pink.”

No can do, Detective, she thinks, hanging up. I owe a dose of antidote to my best friend. But I’m glad you’re not dead because I failed to smell a rat.

Logan smirks as the sound of Brietski’s car stalling is conveyed by the earbud, mouths “Sabotage?” at Veronica. She grins— Dad likely frayed the alternator belt—then jerks in shock as gunshots ring out.

“What the fuck?” Logan mutters over the squealing, skidding, and shattering glass. “Which road did they take? Do you think they’re behind us?”

“You guys, what’s happening?” Mac asks from the back seat. “I’m not wearing an earbud, there weren’t enough in my bag! You guys!”

Veronica grabs Logan’s forearm, fingernails digging in, as Wei’s speech to Keith is followed by a wet thud.

“Oh shit,” Mac says, pressing fingertips to her lips. “DID WEI DO SOMETHING TO KEITH?”

A frantic head shake from Veronica makes Mac realize she shouldn’t have yelled, but it’s too late. A stream of curses erupt from Breitski, followed by, “Very sneaky, Veronica Mars, switching me to transmit. No more spying, though, or you might hear something you REALLY won’t like.”

His earbud emits a loud squeal, consistent with being crushed, goes silent. A second later there’s another squeal, no doubt Keith’s unit. Veronica closes her eyes.

“What do you want me to do?” Logan asks, voice low and reassuring. “Keep heading towards the winery, or turn around and search?”

“You know what? I can track Keith’s cell.” Mac reaches down and fumbles in her bag of equipment; pulls out an electronic module and rapidly types. It lights up, processing, and she says, “They’re on the PCH, not this road. It will take us longer to backtrack and locate the accident than it will to meet them there. Wei must be headed back to Van Vliet’s, right?”

Clenching her jaw, Veronica opens her eyes and nods. Logan entwines their fingers, then floors the gas.

It’s a thirty-minute drive, but they make it in seventeen. Logan cuts up the service road, which runs twenty feet in the direction V DIDN’T walk this morning, right past the bird-infested clearing.

“That’s where they dropped me.” She shakes her head as they pass at her navigational failure. “There’s the bike Ruby supposedly rode in pursuit.”

“Ruby’s full of it.” Mac peers out the darkened window. “Leaving aside the impossibility of keeping pace, that’s a kid’s bicycle. She’d never fit. My guess is, it’s Katie’s, from before the accident that left her paralyzed.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Ruby to drive you here herself,” Logan says. “Or to hide in the back of the truck and attempt rescue, since that would earn my gratitude. Hate to break it to you, babe, but she wants me BAD.”

“Thanks for the news flash.” Veronica elbows him as they pass the guest house, grateful for the attempt to keep her spirits up. Watches him wince as the still-smoking remains of his beloved BMW hove into view. Then frowns, because it looks like the front planters have been smashed, and the door’s…ripped off its hinges? “Jesus, what HAPPENED while we were at the warehouse?”

They pile out of the car, but Logan holds up a hand to halt his companions’ progress. Kneels to study the ground. “Bare feet and motorcycle tracks. Feet head through there,” he points at the hole where the door used to be, “tracks go around to the side. Anybody notice a Harley carrying a naked passenger, at any point in the proceedings?”

Veronica lifts her brows and he grins, standing. Wipes dirt, futilely, off the grungy knees of his jeans. “Military survival training,” he explains, with a faint smile. “Don’t look so surprised. I can built a yurt out of sticks, too, if need be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She bats her lashes and beckons to Mac, who’s standing on crushed snapdragons, examining a shattered picture window. “The only biker I know who would turn up to help me is Weevil, but I don’t remember calling him. And surely if Dad had, he would have said so?”

“To be fair,” Mac contributes, “there’s a lot you don’t remember. And Weevil definitely drives a Harley. Maybe he went in through the patio?”

They check, but the French doors are locked; through the glass, Veronica can see someone’s stuffed a chair under the knob. A quick circuit of the house shows all other doors in the same condition, and nobody’s visible through the windows. “It’s like they prepared for a siege,” she says, thoughtfully. “But someone had the brute force to break in anyway.”

“In which case, either they hid, or were taken,” Logan says grimly. “We’ll have to enter through the front and search.”

“I’m calling Dick.” Mac pulls out her cell, listens, groans. “No joy. You wouldn’t happen to have anything resembling weaponry in that bag, would you?”

Silently, Veronica hands over the taser, then loads Jeff’s golden gun. She offers it to Logan, because he’s actually not terrified of firearms, but he waves it away—then steps in front, to precede her through the broken door.

There’s debris in the hall, mostly splintered wood; the coat closet stands open. Frowning, Logan indicates bloody footprints and says, “They were planning to wait in the library, right? Because it looks like whoever made these came from, then went back to, that room.”

“Could there be another Pink Hulk?” Veronica wonders, studying the prints as they pass. “That would explain the discrepancy in size and aggression between the guy that initially chased us and poor Wallace. These feet are big--and if he took off his shoes before getting in the coffin, I’d guess he chose to be there.” She taps her chin with one finger, thinking. “But if there ARE two of them, where was this guy…altered? The barn’s only got one pod, and Wallace was in it all day.”

“Could be more hidden somewhere else.” Logan follows the trail, alert and focused in a way that’s…really smoking hot, though this is not the time to dwell. Pushes the library door open and scouts before beckoning them in.

“Or someone took Hulk One out in order to pinkify Wallace,” Mac says, holding the door. “He theoretically could have wandered around smashing stuff all day.”

“The floor’s been cleaned.” Logan points at a black-stained towel on the rug. “But that was used to wipe up grease, not blood. And footprints criss-cross the room, like Harvey the Rabbit was searching.”

“Why do I smell urine?” Veronica wrinkles her nose. “And why is there a crushed bouquet of flowers on the desk?”

“The phone lines are out,” Mac announces, setting down the handset. “We’re completely cut off. And frankly, I think whatever went down here is long ov…”

A howl in the distance interrupts her mid-sentence; Logan cocks a brow. “You were saying?”

“Jesus, is something rabid out there?” Veronica wonders, shivering. “It sounds like a coyote only…whinier.”

“Maybe we should try the barn,” Logan suggests, taking her hand. “If the phone lines in the house aren’t working, and our friends managed to escape, they’d look for another landline. Shit, that reminds me—I got a call while we were driving.”

Veronica waves him off before he can pull out his cell. “It was Leo,” she says. “I gave him a list of emergency contacts, you two are numbers one and three. Apparently, the military’s at the hospital asking questions--he’s the cop Wei tried to murder.”

Logan tilts his face up to the ceiling. “If I get court-martialed for meddling in top-secret business, I’m gonna be pissed,” he mutters, before leading the way out to Dick’s car.

They drive in silence to the barn, where Logan repeats his kneel-inspect-frown routine and Veronica frets. Eventually, he finishes Grizzly Adams-ing and saunters back to report.

“Motorcycle tracks and large-vehicle treads lead that way.” He points down the service road in the direction of Neptune. “Looks like Weevil left, and whoever dropped you off here gave chase. Size-twelve Vans prints and very small butch boots head towards the woods,” he points in the opposite direction. “My guess is, Dick and a woman. I got him unicorn Vans as a gag Christmas gift, and he wears them twenty-four-seven.”

“Well, at least Dick can tell us where Wallace went,” Veronica says. “I hope. What’s the status on Dad?”

Mac pulls the tracker from her messenger bag. “Stationary. Same direction as our unicorn-loving friend. But question, before we follow…if the woman’s Ruby, can we trust her? Just exactly whose side is she on?”

“Logan’s.” Veronica smirks, poking his side, and he rolls his eyes. “As long as we’re in this guy’s studly company, we’re safe as houses.”

“Did you just suggest using me as a honeypot?” Logan drapes an arm around her shoulders. “So much for romance.”

She grins. “I’ll bet Ruby would be MORE than glad to romance you silly.”

The shriek comes from closer this time, off to their left among the trees. ���RONKAAAAAAA!”

“Did that coyote call my NAME?” V disentangles from Logan’s embrace; her hand clenches around the butt of the gun, sending a tingling sensation up her arm. “Could that be WALLACE? Did he lose it and go fully pink, trash the house? Are his feet just way bigger than I remember?”

They all stare at each other, appalled, as this possibility sinks in. Then, in tandem, they turn and run straight towards the screams.

DICK

“Okay, Rubes.” Dick surveys the cell-tower cement house with all the disfavor his euphoric state allows. “If I was a phone that didn’t need a code to dial out, here’s where I’d be--this place HAS to have a switchboard or some shit inside. But that fence is, like, super-tall and topped with razor wire. So basically, we’re hosed.”

“Really, Dick?” Ruby performs an eye roll so massive he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt. “Could you BE more of a wuss? I thought you were some kind of surfing badass.”

“Chhh-yeah,” he scoffs, as she hands him her bag, then goes up the fence like monkey. “This bod’s a finely-tuned machine. ‘S why I don’t want abdominal scars.”

“But scars have MYSTIQUE.” Ruby does some hardcore, upper-fence handstand that makes him suspect she’s taking Pole Cardio with Madison, then vaults lightly over. She lands, rolls, and pops up dusting her hands. “I’ll bet LOGAN’S got TONS of scars.”

“Logan’s got everything ladies want,” Dick calls after her, as she opens the cabin door and disappears inside. “He’s been pulling any girl he smiled at since we were like twelve. I think it’s cause he acts all vulnerable and shit. Turns the wahines into jell-AY.”

She emerges with a pair of bolt cutters, chops the chain in half. “Everybody’s vulnerable, Dick,” she says, swinging the gate wide. “If pressure’s applied to the right spot.”

He follows her into the darkened room, gawking at wall-to-wall machinery performing functions he can’t name. This place has got power at least—lights are blinking and flashing on various gauges—but he sees nothing that looks remotely like a telephone.

Ruby goes to study a wall of…whatever, arms crossed; Dick wanders, trailing a finger through the dust on a table. Something knocks lightly against his leg as he passes and he bends to find a cardboard tube stashed beneath.

“Check it out,” he calls, setting down her purse, as well as his wig, gun and the wine bottle he found again, lying abandoned on the path. Removes the tube’s cap, and unrolls the blueprints inside. Spreading them out on the tabletop, he squints through the dim light to read. “Dude, CALLED it! Those tunnels DO go farther than we thought. It’s like an ant colony down there, all over the freaking property.”

Reaching past his shoulder, Ruby taps a small square upper-left. “We’re here,” she says. “And a branch of catacombs leads straight down from this location. So somewhere in this room, there’s another secret door.”

She rushes off to look; but Dick figures he’s not smart enough, even post-Super-Dope, to solve that particular puzzle, so he keeps studying the map. “Wonder what this room’s for?” he muses, tracing a round underground chamber drawn to scale with the main house. “My guess is, housing whatever they’re shipping, ‘cause it looks huge.”

“Aha!” Ruby crows, as her efforts to shift a red lever cause groaning and creaking. Dick moves to help. Slowly, a section of computer swings aside to reveal stone steps, going down.

“Rubster strikes again.” He high-fives her, grinning at her flushed excitement, then moves to gather his shit.

She rolls her eyes again, just as theatrically, and rummages in her bag. Produces one of those ecologically-conscious grocery sacks, green and labeled ‘Whole Foods’, holds it out. “It can be your man-purse,” she says, with a smirk. “Your murse.”

“You know, you have a LOT of gear and skills for a karaoke impresario, or whatever it is you do for cash,” he observes, filling and shouldering the murse nonetheless.  “It’s kinda hot, but I’m also slightly intimidated.”

“Join the club,” she breezes, donning her own bag, and leads the way, practically skipping, down the stairs.

Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of our round robin! Check back next Saturday for the second half of Part 27 also written by @cheshirecatstrut!

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around...(part 24)

This is PART 24 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 24 is written by @mysilverylining 

[Part 23]

Screeeeeeeech.

The high-pitched cry comes from somewhere in the near distance, and despite Weevil's thick leather jacket, a full-body shiver runs through him. He can't identify what species of animal made the sound, but he's confident it's nothing he wants to run into in the dark. 

What's taking so long, anyway? At least thirty minutes have passed since Mr. Mars disappeared into the mansion, promising he'd text once it was safe to follow.

His cell rests in his pocket, right next to his hand. He would've felt it if it buzzed. Nevertheless, he checks it again. Just to be sure.

Nothing. There's plenty of battery life left, and his signal strength...Oh. Well that explains it. 

The animal shrieks again, closer now, and hair lifts on the back of his neck. Crossing himself, he scans his immediate surroundings, detecting no movement in the fading light.

 He doesn't know what – if anything – is going on inside that house, but he'd rather take his chances with bad guys than end up as an hors d'euvre for some rabid animal. And anyway, who's to say Mr. Mars hasn't tried texting him for backup? The more he considers it, the more he's convinced he's needed inside that house. But, just to be safe, maybe he shouldn't burst through the front door.

 Weevil puts his bike in neutral and silently rolls it around the side of the house. He parks next to an ornate garden patio, climbs off, and creeps to the French doors.

 On the other side of the glass, an immense wooden table dominates the center of a fancy dining room. A large rounded doorway, looks into what appears to be a formal library. Shadows bounce against the wall indicating multiple parties within. The question is, who?

 A series of slamming car doors jolts him from his thoughts. Ignitions start, and he spins around just as two vehicles speed away down the long curving driveway. He's not familiar with the truck, but he'd recognize the driver's big old head anywhere. Echolls. The passenger could be Veronica, but he's not positive. Keith Mars follows in his own car, an unidentified man riding shotgun, and someone else in the back seat.

 Well shit. Now what? Should he hop back on the bike and catch up?

 Movement inside the house catches his eye. Raised voices. Somebody leans against the doorframe, fiddling with their watchband.

 He'll decide whether to join Veronica's caravan later. After he's shaken an explanation out of Mr. Rolex.

 It takes thirty seconds to pick the lock. Oh yeah! Still haven't lost my touch. He slips inside, closing the doors silently behind him. Creeping up behind the unidentified man, Weevil grabs him by the wrist, pushing forward while twisting it up behind his back. "You have thirty seconds to explain what's going on with the Mars family."

 Up close, the guy is tall, tanned, with shaggy blond hair and... Oh hell. He releases his grip, and Casablancas whirls around, belligerent. "What the hell, Weevil? Did somebody order a pool cleaning? Because it's not a good time right now. Come back next week."

 "Ha ha." Weevil speaks, monotone. "You've been milking that lame joke for how long?"

 While Dick scowls and rubs at his wrist, Weevil examines the other two occupants (maybe three, if that blanket-covered lump on the couch is what he thinks it is).

 To his right, a slender man with a familiar face sits, stiff and sullen, in a leather club chair.

Tilting his head, Weevil points a thumb at the guy. "Is that my high school History teacher?"

 "Maybe?" Dick shrugs. "I know he taught something at Neptune High, but then he got shitcanned for boning a student."

 "Boning a student?" At first glance, the sequined blonde on the other chair resembles Veronica, but even seated, she has half a foot of height on V. She speaks, harsh and judgmental. "That student was Susan Knight, and you weren't good enough to lick her boots."

 "Fine!" Casablancas holds up both hands, defensively. "So, he made loooove to her, or whatever."

 She lifts her lip in a sneer. "You're as repulsive as that pedophile."

 Weevil squints, mentally peeling back the thick false lashes, heavy makeup - and blonde wig (if he's guessing correctly).

 "Ruby Jackson." Lips stretching into a wide grin, he crosses the room and bumps her fist. "How the hell are you doing?"

 "Could be better, Weevil." She sweeps a hand out, indicating Casablancas and Rooks. "And it's Ruby Jetson now. Just fits my brand better."

 He can't argue that.

 Casablancas stares back and forth between them. "How do you know Logan's stalker?"

 "Who, Ruby?  We go way back." At least three names ago.

 “Weevil came to my rescue in high school when a couple asshole 09ers were bullying me. Playing keep away with my glasses and backpack."

 Dick chuckles. "Ha! I used to do stuff like that in high school."

 They both stare at him until the nostalgic grin slips off his face. "Oh." He drops his eyes, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry. I guess."

 Dismissing him, Weevil gestures to Ruby's 'look'. "So, what's with the VMars impersonation?"

 "Maybe I just wanted to find out if blondes do have more fun?"

 "Obviously she's trying to lure Logan into her bed." Casablancas volunteers. "She's as much as admitted it."

 Weevil runs a hand over his face, and blows out a breath. "If you’d like to write some goodbye letters, I'll be sure to get them to your loved ones, after Veronica murders you."

 Ruby's nose crinkles, offended. "For your information, I can hold my own against Veronica Mars. In fact, I've been one step ahead of her all along."

 Doubtful. As much as he likes Ruby, she lacks V's killer instinct. "Speaking of Veronica...Does somebody want to explain what's going on? Why did Mr. Mars request backup and then leave without talking to me? Why did they just tear out of here like a bat out of hell? And who the hell is that dead body on the couch?"

 "Wow." A muffled voice speaks from under the blanket. "That's just harsh, man."

 Weevil crosses the room, and throws back the cover. "Fennel?"

Wallace's eyelids flutter, pained by the overhead lighting, and his rib cage heaves with labored breaths. His complexion is...well...alarming. It's as if he's been dip-dyed in a giant vat of neon pink highlighter ink, tinting his flesh, and staining his teeth and eyeballs. In fact, some kind of gooey pink residue clings to him even now, like the skin on the top of his abuela's Jell-O.

 Alarm bells go off in Weevil's brain. "What the fuck happened to you?"

 Fennel moans, speaks in a pained voice. "Should I start at the beginning, or just skip to the part where Einstein here ran me down with his truck?" He gestures to Casablancas.

 "Yeah, I'm totally sorry for that, dude. My bad."

 Weevil turns his glare on Dick. "Why the hell isn't he in the hospital? He could have cracked ribs. Punctured lungs."

 Casablancas shrugs. "Got me, man. Veronica took off out of here to track down an antidote for him. She didn't mention anything about hospitals. Just told us to watch him and keep him alive."

 Ruby adds. "We couldn't have done anything anyway. We're stuck without a vehicle, there's no cell reception, and the phone lines were cut."

 Damn! All he has is his bike, and Wallace is in no shape to hold on. "What did you mean by antidote?"

 Casablancas looks at him like he's an idiot. "Umm...antidotos? You know, they cure poison and viruses and stuff."

 Weevil sighs, and counts backwards from five. "I meant, what's wrong with Fennel? Other than the results of your vehicular homicide attempt."

 "Ohhhh" Dick nods, getting it now. "The antidote is for that sludge stuff that was being piped into his coffin."

 "Oh, give me a fucking break." Weevil spins around. "Coffins? Sludge? What the hell is this? A Toxic Avenger reboot?"

 Rooks crosses his legs, pulling his lower pant leg tight enough to reveal a bulge. He’s sullen and silent, in the same room, but not with the others. And from the look of those bruises, has already run afoul of Echolls. All of it together indicates that he’s probably shady.  If not? Well, he can always apologize later.  

 Weevil turns back to the others, casual and at ease.  He counts to three, turns, and dives on the man. Before Mr. Rooks even knows what hit him, Weevil’s confiscated the pistol.

 "Great job checking him for an ankle holster, guys." Holding it by its barrel, he passes it over to Ruby, who tucks it down the front of her jeans like a TV gangster.

 Casablancas rolls his eyes. "Um...we've been a little occupied running for our lives. God, you're judgmental."

 "Running from who?"

 "Him." Dick points at Wallace.

 "You ran for your life from Wallace Fennel?" Weevil snorts. "What did you think he would do? Make a three-pointer on your face?"

 "How many times do I have to tell you?" Wallace groans. "I wasn't chasing you. I was trying to escape."

"Maybe you were when I hit you, but what about all the other times? You've been chasing us all day, with your super speed, and stuff."

 "WHAT other times?" Fennel seems clearly baffled.

 "Hold on." Weevil puts up a hand. "I want to hear the whole story, but first can somebody have the decency to clean this guy off? If that residue is toxic enough to require an antidote, he shouldn't be left wearing it." He points to Rooks. "You. Make yourself useful and help out your fellow educator."

 The man speaks for the first time. "And get that stuff all over me?"

 "Call it karma for Susan Knight." Ruby sneers. "And Carrie Bishop, too. She would still be alive if you hadn't traumatized Susan."

 "I didn't traumatize Susan. She loved me, and I...cared for her."

 Weevil holds up a hand, halting Ruby's imminent tirade. "I'm sure you have a lot to say, and he's clearly scum of the earth. But arguing right now won't help Fennel."

 Dick speaks up. "If we let him leave this room, how do we know he won't dump Wally somewhere and take off?"

 "Wallace." The blanket mumbles.

 "I don't know." Weevil touches his chin, pretending to ponder. "What stopped him from taking off before I showed up? You weren't even watching him, he had a weapon, and if I wanted to get away badly enough, Dick Casablancas wouldn't be much of a deterrent."

 Ruby seems to think this over for a second, but isn't convinced. She pulls the gun, and aims. "Let's go pervert."

 "Go ahead. Shoot me." Rooks lifts his pointy, belligerent chin. "The only way to get him to the bathroom would be to carry him, and if I get that substance all over me, I'll die anyway."

 With a feral snarl, Ruby leaves the room, returning thirty-seconds later with a wheelchair. "Lift him onto this."

 "Where'd you get that?" Weevil asks.

 "It was in the sister's room." She points in a vaguely Northeast direction.

 "No way! That Lydia chick making Ronnie jump through hoops is a gimp?"

 Ruby whirls on Dick. "Don't even speak to me if you're going to use ablest slurs." 

 From the way Dick's forehead scrunches, Weevil guesses he'll be checking the dictionary later.

 She continues. "It was the other sister's room. The little one. The one Sean Friedrich is holding as leverage over Jeff and Lydia."

 Wait. What? Weevil feels a migraine coming. "That sniveling twerp, Sean Freidrich is involved in this, too?"

 "To the teeth."

 "Her name is Katie." Rooks is staring at the wheelchair, skin tight around his eyes, and wearing an expression of pure nausea. "She's twelve years old."

 Oh fuck. Not a kid. That sticky-fingered freak better hope Weevil doesn't find him first. You never mess with kids.

 "Well?" Ruby waves the gun, to get Rook's attention.

 He sighs, and stands, pulls his sleeves over his hands and gingerly transfers a moaning Wallace into the chair. They leave the room, Ruby muttering, "I dare you to try something, Pedo. Go ahead. I'll shoot your nuts off."

 Weevil stares out the window, while Casablancas rolls a thick doobie on a priceless antique game table.

 It's full dark now, the only light coming from the solar powered garden stakes lining the front bed. He tries his phone again, but still can't get a signal.

 Hopefully Veronica and Echolls are having some luck, but antidote or not, Wallace needs to be in a hospital. He's barely holding on.

 Then again, if he's been exposed to a toxin, maybe they should get him to the CDC. It's in Atlanta, if he remembers his Walking Dead canon, but maybe there's a local chapter. He'd look it up on his phone, but...

 At the sound of squabbling and squeaking wheels, he shakes his head, refocusing on the here and now.

 Wallace appears marginally better when they return. He's clean, at the very least, with white bandages taped and wrapped haphazardly. They've managed to round up some fresh clothing for him, and a cap to shade his eyes. The jeans are about a mile too long, but it's not like he's going to be tap dancing.

 Weevil pinches the bridge of his nose. "Feeling any better?"

 "I still feel like I've been hit by a truck." Wallace slants angry eyes at Casablancas. "But I suppose not sticking to myself and everything around me is an improvement."

 Grabbing a side chair, Weevil drags it over to Wallace and sits at eye level. "Tell me what happened to you."

 "Most of it I don't remember." Wallace gives a helpless shrug. "They got me when I came here looking for…a friend. Lydia seemed nice enough. She invited me in, offered me refreshments, and pretended not to know anything.  I think she must have drugged my tea or something.  Next thing I know, I’m in a damn coffin, covered in some kind of gel or plasma, with a breathing tube shoved down my throat.”  He shudders, and Weevil can't really blame him.

 So, the nice white lady invites a black guy inside. Coffins, and toxic sludge, and drugged tea. Forget the Toxic Avenger, this is starting to look more like the Get Out Sequel, “Get the FUCK Out.”

 “Hey,” Weevil begins, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been meaning to ask you.  Remember that redhead that was with me the first time we met? At that diner?”  

 Wallace’s scowls. “Have you been sniffing glue? The first time we met, you and your gang ambushed me in the parking lot, stripped me naked, and duct taped me to a flagpole.”  

 “Sorry.” Weevil exhales. “Had to be sure.”  

 Wallace stares at him, brow crinkled in confusion, and then rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I saw that movie too, and I would remind you that it’s fiction, and therefore, impossible, but I’ve seen – and done – some things today. And I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore either, so…?”

 Weevil guides him back to the explanation. "So, Veronica was okay with you coming here without backup?"

 "I don't need to clear every decision with Veronica, you know."

 "Considering what happened to you, maybe you should." Dick licks his rolling paper and glances up. "I'm just sayin'"

 Interesting. So, Fennel purposely kept Veronica out of the loop. Why would he do that? Unless... Weevil leans forward. "Who's the friend?"

 Wallace’s face forms that obstinate expression he remembers from high school. "I can't tell you."

 "Like hell, you can't."

 "No man. I promised. I swore I wouldn't say a word." Wallace rolls his shoulders and then winces. "Man. My ribs are killing me. Maybe I should take some Ibuprofen."

 "Nice try, Fennel." Weevil shakes his head. "Who did you come here to help? And why didn't you want Veronica to know about it?"

 Surprisingly, it's Ruby who answers. "His name is Piznambia."

 Dick perks up. "Piznarksi? From Hearst?"

 "That's what I said."

 "Damn." Dick chuckles. "Last time I saw that dude, he was getting his face smashed-in at our high school reunion. I have pictures."

 "I know." Ruby pins Casablancas with a stare. "Why do you think he volunteered?"

 Dick's brow furrows, confused. "To get beaten up?"

 Ruby sighs. "No. He signed up to be a test subject for an experimental drug. A drug developed for the express purpose of creating super soldiers. Super-fast and super-strong, super-soldiers."

 Something in Weevil's peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns back to the window. "Um...guys?"

 "Piznarski?" Dick snorts in derision. "I'll believe it when I see it. Super-tool is the best he can hope for."

 "He spent a lot more time under that goo than this guy did." She waves a hand at Wallace. "And you saw how fast he could run."

 "Guys!" Weevil raises his voice, and they all turn to him. "Don't look now, but Piz is coming this way, and I think you made him angry."

 Despite the darkness, the skin not covered by the figure’s shredded tee-shirt and tighty-whities glows with a pink, phosphorescent light.

 "Holy shit!" Dick whispers.

The whites of Piz' eyes are the same neon hue as his skin, and his lips are pulled back in a rictus grin. "RONNNKA! RONNNKA! 'SMEE PIZ!"

 "What language is that?" Ruby asks.

 Weevil can't take his eyes off the monster. "He's calling for Veronica."

 A variety of bright, colorful flowers spill artistically from a two-foot terra-cotta planter. Piz bends down, picks it up, and holds it out in offering like a hostess bouquet. "COME OUT RONNNKA! WANNA TALK TO YOU." The planter cracks in his grip and breaks into a dozen pieces, contents tumbling to the ground. He looks down, confused, and then back to the window.

 "Fuck. My. Life." Weevil crosses himself. "We need to get the hell out of here. He's going to bust in, and I don't want to be here when he realizes Veronica's not around."

 "How?" Dick asks. "We have no cars and no phones."

 "I know what to do. Follow me." Ruby crosses to the far side of the room, out of sight from the picture window.

 Dick watches her, forehead wrinkled in thought. "Wait a second. You haven't limped in an hour. What happened to 'I can't walk. My ankle’s broken.'?"

 Ruby glances back over her shoulder, rolls her eyes. "Logan's not here to carry me. Guess I'm on my own." She tugs on an antique brass wall sconce, and a wide section of bookcase swings open, revealing a darkened tunnel of some kind.

 Dick gasps. "No. Freaking. Way. Where does it lead?"

 The flashlight on Ruby's cell illuminates only a few feet. "Catacombs. They run under the entire property." She turns to Weevil. "Think you could roll your bike through here?"

 Weevil rubs the back of his head. "I think so. Can we get it back up?"

 "Yeah. There are ramps at each end."

 "How do you know all this?" Dick asks. "Jeff and Lydia give you a map?"

 "They don't even know the tunnels exist." Ruby turns a sad glance to Wallace - no, the wheelchair he's sitting in. "Katie discovered them. Gave me the underground tour before Sean took her away."

 From outside. "RONNNKA! TALK TO MEEE. MISS YOU!"

 Dick hooks a thumb at the window. "What about Pepto Pizmal out there? If he figures out the house is empty, he might search the property for us."

 "For the first time in your life, you may be right," Weevil says. "We need somebody to stay behind and play decoy long enough for us to get a head start." 

 All eyes turn to Rooks. He lifts both hands, shaking his head adamantly. "Nope. I won't do it. You leave me behind with that...thing...I'm out of here. I'd rather take my chances running."

 Weevil turns to Ruby. "Know where we can find some rope?"

 "You can't leave me here defenseless!" Rooks shrieks. "That's murder!"

 He's not wrong.  "Fine." Weevil sighs, out of patience. "That leaves Ruby or Dick. Wallace needs to be hospitalized, and I need to take him."

 "Not me." Ruby crosses her arms over her chest. "You'll need me to guide you, if you don't want to get lost."

 Four sets of eyes turn to Dick.

 "No. No way." When nobody budges, he whines, "Come on, guys! How the hell am I supposed to convince him I'm Veronica."

 A wide smile stretches across Ruby's face. She plucks off her golden blonde wig, placing it on Dick's head, and adjusting it until it covers all of his own hair. "Wow. You're kinda pretty."

 Despite his predicament, Casablancas smiles, enjoying the flattery.

 "For a douche," Ruby continues.

 His smile drops.

 Weevil rolls his bike in from the patio, choosing not to fret about parquet flooring. Leaving it next to the tunnel, he makes a quick loop of the manor, locking exterior doors and reinforcing them by stuffing chairs under the knobs.

 The monster formerly known as Piz is still howling when he rejoins the others. Ruby returns seconds later with a handful of flashlights, and a machete. She's changed her clothing and now wears tight khaki pants, tall brown boots and an olive-green tank top under a Veronica-style leather jacket. The gun is still tucked into her pants, and her long dark hair falls in a braid down her back.

 Weevil keeps his laugh on the inside. If role-playing helps her find her confidence, who is he to judge? At least she didn't go with hot pants and thigh holsters.

 Straddling his bike, he puts it in neutral and turns on the headlight. "Ready to get this show on the road?"

 "As ready as I'll ever be." Without a backwards glance, Ruby clicks on her flashlight and steps through the opening. Rooks follows, pushing Wallace in the wheelchair.

 Dick stands next to the tilted wall sconce, bewigged and trying valiantly to conceal his fear.

 Shit. Hell has officially frozen over if he's feeling sympathy for this asshole.

 Weevil gives him a manly nod. "I've never liked you, Casablancas."

 Dick bites his fist, the image of contained devastation. "Somehow, my heart will go on."

 "But..." Weevil continues. "I don't want you to die. At the very least, it would hurt people I care about."

 "Is that violins I hear?" Dick cups his ear. "It's like we're almost...friends."

 "Don't get ahead of yourself." Weevil chuckles. "Anyway, stay visible from the window. Once Piz wanders off, wait a few minutes and follow us." He aims his flashlight inside the tunnel. “There’s sand on the tunnel floor, so you should be able to follow the track of my bike.  If Piz gets inside the house..." He pauses. "Hey Ruby, come here."

 She returns from the tunnel. "What's up?"

 "We need to give Dick that gun."

 "Are you crazy? We can't give him our only weapon."

 "What do you call that machete?" Weevil raises an eyebrow. She still looks resistant, so he puts a hand on her arm, appealing to her emotions. "He's taking a huge risk to keep us safe. We can't leave him defenseless."

 "UGH! Why do you have to make sense?" Roughly yanking the gun from her waistband, she hands it butt first to Dick. She returns to the tunnel, muttering, "The idiot will probably shoot his own foot off, but what do I care?"

 Wallace gathers enough energy to make threats. “He’s still my friend, man. Don’t you dare kill him, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”  

 Dick’s eyes lift to the ceiling. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll just toast marshmallows together, and sing “Come Buy Ya.”

 Weevil snickers. Idiot. "Best of luck, my man." He hands his flashlight to Dick, pushes off and rolls his bike down the ramp. The secret door closes behind him, leaving only his headlight, and three small flashlights to guide the way.

So, this is it. Alone with the freak.

 The bookshelf swings closed with a loud creeeaaak, sounding much like the final nail in Dick's coffin. Not a nail being hammered, obvi, but maybe one being stressed. Like if the coffin was wood, and he was inside doing a lot of wiggling or something.

 Wonder if Wally did a lot of wiggling in his coffin before he got freed?

 A wet motorcycle track runs from the patio entrance straight to the secret door, like a neon sign saying 'they went this-a-way'. He grabs a towel from the nearest bathroom, and using his foot, wipes it out. Kind of. He's not trying to win any housekeeping awards, or anything.

"RONNKA! RONNKA!"

Dick shudders. If he's going to be forced to stick around listening to the world's pinkest Stanley Kowalski, he's going to need a bit of...herbal relief. Luckily, he’s already anticipated this.

Bringing flame to the end of his joint, he inhales deeply, holding the smoke until his ears start to ring. Little by little his rigid muscles relax.

Piz still stands outside the window, staring in at him. Dick's skin crawls, but he forces a smile and gives him a little finger-wave.

Damn, why can't Logan be here? He wouldn't stand around waiting to be hulk-smashed. He'd head out there and take a shovel to the fucker's head. Of course, he'd probably end up hospitalized, but at least everyone else would get away.

Wait...am I the Logan tonight? Smiling, despite his predicament, he takes a seat in the club chair next to the window - still warm from Ruby's fine ass.

It's almost miraculous, the way she'd transformed from a simpering, clingy, hot-mess when Logan was here, to a competent, bitchy, take-no-prisoners, hot-mess, the moment he was gone. Something about her utter disdain for him, well...it's disturbing how much that turns him on.

He’d bang her. Probably. It’s not like Mac will ever give him the time of day, so why not?

He fluffs the long blonde wig over his shoulders. If only he had some props or something. A fan, maybe.

 Bugs Bunny would flutter a fan when he was hiding in plain sight as a woman. Sometimes he’d do the Knitting-Granny thing, or the bonneted Southern Belle, or chick with the fruit-basket hat.

 And you can never forget blonde, Viking-Braids Bugs. That was kinda hot. Huh. My man, Bugs, REALLY enjoyed going drag.

 "RONNKA." The Piz thing howls. "LOVE YOU!"

 Despite the danger, Dick can't help but snicker. Raising his voice to a feminine pitch, he shouts back. "I LOVE LOGAN! NOT YOU!"

 "RONNNKA! I FIGHTS GOOD NOW, TOO!"

 Dick calls back. "BUT YOU STILL CAN'T FUCK WORTH A DAMN!"

 Piz lets out a roaring shriek and runs straight at the window.

 Oh shit! Why did I do that again?

 Dick backs away - all the way, until he bumps into the bookcase. The glass picture window shatters into a million pieces, and he pulls the gun from his pants, holding it straight out in front of him.

 Piz-zilla stands among the debris, barefoot and unaffected. His eyes lock on Dick, and his head tilts, confuse. "Ronnka?"

 He stalks closer, ignoring the gun and leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.

 Something hot and wet runs down Dick's leg, and in desperation, he rips the wig off his head, holds it out in front of him, and waves it like a white flag.

 He squeezes his eyes closed and waits.  Piz doesn’t attack, nor does he retreat.  He waits there, breathing like a bad porn star and smelling like wet dog.

 When he can’t take the suspense another second, Dick cracks an eyelid.  

 Piz is staring at the wig, horrified. "Wha you do to Ronka?"

 "No! I didn't fucking scalp her. It's a wig. See?" He turns it inside-out, displaying the woven cap section. "Not Veronica. Ronnie left an hour ago."

 "Ronka here. Saw her."

 "No man. That was me! Look!" Dick demonstrates, putting the wig on and pulling it off, repeating the gesture several times. "I'm Veronica. Not Veronica. Veronica. Not Veronica. See what I mean?"

 "Not Veronica." The Pizmonster repeats.

 "Not Veronica," Dick confirms. "She left an hour ago. With Logan."

 "LOOOGAN!" Piz roars!

 Dick cringes. Way to poke the beast, genius.

 Piz spins away, howling, "LOOOGAN! LET RONKA GO!  SHE LOVE MEEEE NOW."

 "Yeah. Logan stole yo girl!" Dick gently shoves Piz into motion. "Go get 'em, big guy."

 He waits until Piz is out of sight. Not daring to open the secret passage – the creaking hinges might draw him back – Dick hides instead in the coat closet to the left of the front door. He hears crashes and bangs as Piz stalks from room to room, screaming for Ronnie and Logan.

 Minutes pass, and the noise stops. Dick bites his lip at the sound of crunching glass outside his hiding space. He lifts the gun, swearing that this time, he'll shoot the fucker.

 Piz reaches for the exterior door instead, ripping it from its hinges with a loud, creaking crash. He heads out into the night, resuming his call for Veronica.

 It takes Dick several minutes to escape the closet with the debris in the way. He's forced, to sit, press his back to the wall, and shove with his feet until the door opens far enough for him to squeeze out.

 With one last look through the broken window – nothing pink, nor glowing in sight – Dick exits into the catacombs.

 Darkness closes around him, thick and silent, and this has to be what solitary confinement feels like.

 He flicks on his flashlight, but the beam is weak. If he doesn't catch up before the batteries die, he's going to be trapped down here in the dark.

 One wrong turn, and he could be lost down here forever. Would the others even search for him? Weevil has every reason to hate him, Fennel thinks he's trash, and Ruby would just use his passing as an excuse to console Logan.

 He trains the small circle of light on the motorcycle track, and moves with purpose. To combat his fear and loneliness, he lights his second joint, and tries connecting all the pieces he's learned or overheard since making the mistake of driving to this property.

 Jeff and Lydia VanVino - or whatever - traded their failing Cabernet production for vats full of pink level-up potion. There has to be a shitload of cash in that, provided nobody catches wind of the results.

 Lydia allied herself with that cockroach, Sean Friedrich, who's some kind of Fitzpatrick henchman now. Jeff, apparently, grew a conscience, and decided to work with Veronica. And her San Diego cop buddies. Separately. Whether that was before or after Friedrich kidnapped his little sister remains to be seen.

 Piz signed up for the Captain America makeover treatment, but ended up trading most of his IQ points for the ability to smash property and a permanent case of rosacea.

 Ruby’s in it because she wants to bang Logan. Piz wants to bang Veronica. Dick wants to bang someone. Anyone. It's been a while.

 "And Mr. Rooks shot at Ruby because...why? She's annoying? She can identify him? He's a bitter prick?"

 There's too many bad guys. Too many coincidences. Hell, even Beaver would consider this plan convoluted, and he engineered the whole...well...you know.

"We have to be missing something. They don’t call them the Fighting Fitzpatricks for nothing. There’s already a dozen of them, backbiting and jockeying for position. So…an army of braindead, pink, super-soldiers would just make things worse, right?”

 A tunnel branches off to the right, but Dick ignores it, as Weevil's tire track continues straight ahead.

That is, until he hears the moaning. Not moaning-moaning, really. Nobody's bumping uglies or anything, and he's not being haunted by the Ghost of Pizmas Past. It's more like…somebody with a mouth full of...something, is really trying to get his attention.

 He should probably check it out. On the other hand, his flashlight is growing dimmer by the minute, and with Logan and Mac across town with Ronnie, there's a zero percent chance the it's anyone he gives a shit about.

 A minute later, his curiosity gets the better of him. What if Ruby or Rooks, (or both), turned against Wallace and Weevil, stole the motorcycle, and left them behind? He doesn't much like those guys, but they're Ronnie's people, and he's Logan's, so they're almost like his in-laws.

 And anyway, this is going to make a helluva bar story someday – if they survive the night – and he'd be embarrassed to admit he got out alive without ever discovering the identity of the moaner.

 Dammit. He retraces his steps, and turns at the 'Y', dragging his foot to make a new path.

 The new branch curves sharply to the right, circling back toward the main tunnel, and dead-ending in a sort of cul-de-sac. Stacked crates line the wall, with shipping labels so old, the writing has all but worn off. Leaning against one of them, bound and gagged, sits...Ugh.

 "This is what curiosity gets you." Dick rips duct tape from Sean Friedrich's, noting the pinkish bald spot in the dude's 'stache with some satisfaction. "Funny meeting you, here."

 Sean spits a wad of white cloth from his mouth, pushing it with his tongue when it sticks to his lip. "Dick Casablancas. Last person I would've expected. I was afraid you didn't hear me."

 "I wish I hadn't." Hooking hands under Sean's arms, Dick helps him up to his feet.

 "Thanks. Hurry up, and untie me."

 "Yeah. Not happening." The nearest crate has been pried open at some point, and Dick pushes aside its lid, shining his flashlight on the contents. He lifts one of the remaining nine bottles of wine, blowing off the dust. He can't read the label - not enough light, so he tucks it under the arm holding his flashlight. "Let's go, before we run out of light."

 "Help me out, man! My wrists are numb."

 "Sucks to be you." Dick shoves him toward the tunnel. "Get it through your head, we're not on the same team."

 "We could be," Sean glances over his shoulder, preparing to start negotiations. "I can make it worth your while."

 Dick chuckles. "That shit doesn't work on me. I'm already rich."

 Sean persists. "What if I could offer you something better than money?"

 "Like what?"

 "I can make you a god." Sean says, without an ounce of irony.

 Dick plays along. "A god? What do you mean?"

 "I can make you invincible. Strong like Hercules. Fast like Hermes. Powerful like Zeus." Apparently, Friedrich has gone off the deep end, and thinks he's some kind of Bond villain now.

 "Smart like a box of bricks?" Back at the main tunnel, Dick nudges Sean to the right. "Pink like Victoria's Real Secret?"

 Sean sighs. "That was a... mistake. Lydia made a miscalculation in the formula. All the others were successes. Let me make you a success."

 "You're talking to the wrong guy. I surf, I get baked, and play video games. What do I need with strength or speed?"

 "Fine!" Sean snaps. "You don't care about money or power. What do you give a shit about? I'll get it for you."

 "Well, there's family. Logan Echolls, for instance. Remember him?" Dick shoves at Sean's back, causing him to stumble for a few steps. "You should. You turned his girlfriend into an addict, fucked her behind his back, and then soiled her memory before she was cold in her grave."

 "Hey! If it wasn't me, it would have been some other guy with good drugs. She came on to me, and anyway, I told Logan I was sorry."

 "So, to make it up to him, you turned Piznarski into a heat-seeking missile intent on bumping him off and stealing his current girlfriend?"

 "We humored the guy. So, what?" Sean's voice drips with condescension. "Do you think we're stupid enough to want Veronica Mars up in our business? She has a habit of ruining everything."

 "So, you were just—” Dick's flashlight goes out, plunging them into blackness. "SHIT!"

 Sean takes the opportunity to run, his footsteps shuffling in double-time.

 "Stop, you idiot. I have a gun."

 “Good luck aiming, sucker!” Sean calls back.  

 The flashlight hits the ground with an echoing clatter, as Dick pulls his cell from his pocket, and thumbs on the flashlight icon.

 Ahead, Sean stumbles and trips, unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back. "Arghhh"

 "Serves you right, sucker." Once again, Dick helps him up off the ground.

 A film of dirt covers Sean's face, shirt and jeans. He spits out blood and one of his front teeth. "I had to try, before I just let you deliver me straight to Logan."

 Logan? Considering the disgust and anger on Weevil's face after learning about the missing little girl, Logan shouldn't be Sean's main concern.

 "What's your deal with Logan, anyway?" Dick experimentally tucks his cell in the chest pocket of his shirt, relieved when it's tall enough for the light to show over the top. "It's starting to look like you have a grudge or something."

"Why would I have a grudge against Logan?" Sean asks, but he sounds belligerent and totally fake.

 "Whatever, man." Hands freed up, Dick relights his joint, inhaling deeply.

 "What's that smell?" Sean stops and turns around. "Are you smoking a fatty?"

 "What if I am?"

 "Let me hit that."

 Dick blows smoke into the douche's face. "Nope."

 Sean sighs like the bitch that he is, and resumes walking. "When did you become such an asshole."

 "When wasn't I an asshole? Do you even know me?" Just to fuck with him, Dick aims each of his exhales at the back of Sean's head.

 Rounding a bend in the tunnel, pinpricks of light come into view. Finally!

 Cupping one hand around his mouth, Dick shouts. "HELLLOOOOOOO."

 Silence follows. He's about to try again, when Weevil's voice calls out. "CASABLANCAS?"

 "YEAH, IT'S ME."

 Weevil doesn't answer, but the lights stop receding, growing bigger and brighter as they approach.

 "Piznarski give up and go away?" Weevil asks, when they're within spitting distance.

 "Yeah. After he busted the window and rampaged through the house, he took off to look for Veronica outside."

 A flashlight beam swings in their direction, forcing Dick to squint and shield his eyes.

 "Ugh. Why the hell would you bring him with you?" Ruby asks.

At the sound of her voice, Sean lets out a furious snarl and hurtles forward into the blackness in-between. "You double-crossing bitch!"

 "Did you really think I was going to let you hurt Logan?" She laughs, cruel and cutting. "You're lucky I stopped at tying you up."

 "Lucky you conked me over the head and left me there for oomph--" Sean's voice cuts off.

 Dick closes the remaining distance to the small - but glorious - circle of light. As he joins the group, Ruby greets him by plucking the joint from his hand, and lifting it to her lips. To her left, Wallace slumps in his wheelchair, eyelids at half-mast, as if fighting against unconsciousness.

 Weevil has Sean pinned to the wall, a forearm pressed to his windpipe. He leans in close enough to tongue Sean's ear drum – what's up with this dude and his homoerotic posturing? – speaks in a menacing whisper. "Whatever my friend Ruby did to you is going to feel like a picnic by the time I'm done with you."

 "What the hell?" Sean squirms and struggles. Tries to head butt, but misses by several inches. "What did I do to you?"

 "Me? Nothing. But you took a disabled little girl away from her family, and I have a BIG problem with that."

Mr. Rooks closes-in from Sean's other side, almost comical in his attempt to look intimidating. As if Weevil needs backup from him.

 Ruby seems to be thinking the same thing. She rolls her eyes and hands the joint back to Dick, now sticky, and tasting of Dr. Pepper flavored lip gloss.

 "I'll give her back." Sean speaks slowly, as if trying to regulate his seething contempt. "She's useless to me now, anyway, thanks to that idiot, Jeff."

 Weevil casts an appraising glance at Wallace, and sighs. "We'd better get a move on. This guy needs a doctor." Pulling out a pocket knife, he cuts Sean's remaining bindings and releases him.

 Sean rolls his shoulders, and rotates his wrists back and forth. He only manages to take two steps away from the wall before Rook swings, planting a fist in his face. He stumbles backwards, hitting the wall and clunking his head.

 Weevil side-eyes their old teacher. "You done, tough guy?"

 "Yeah." Rooks whimpers and clutches his fist, as if surprised by the pain. "That was for Katie."

 "Obviously." Weevil swings his leg over his motorcycle and pushes up the kickstand. "Let's move." He kicks off the ground, rolling the bike forward.

 Dick and Ruby fall in behind, with Sean circling around to walk on Dick's left side. He wiggles his jaw, and spits a second front tooth into his open palm.

 Dick snorts. "I hope Team Bad Guy has a good dental plan."

 Sean isn't amused. He eyes each of them like they're vipers capable of striking at any moment.

 Rooks - pushing Wallace's wheelchair - brings up the rear.

 They walk in silence at first, the only sound being the squeaking of wheels and sizzle of paper, as Dick and Ruby pass the joint back and forth.

 Cross-tunnels appear more regularly. Most, they pass by. Twice, Ruby instructs them to turn.

 "Just out of curiosity..." Sean begins. "Has anybody considered the possibility of Ruby getting us thoroughly lost, and then slipping away when we're not paying attention?"

 "That's a great idea," she answers. "Now let me just split Weevil and Wallace from the pack for a totally unrelated conversation..."

 Dick bumps her shoulder. "Not a lot of loyalty on Team Bad Guy, huh?"

 "I'm not on their team."

 Wallace speaks up. "Well then, whose team are you on?"

 "Good question," Weevil says. "How did you end up with these guys?"

 "Team Logan, obviously.  Should I start from the beginning?"

 Obviously.

 "Yeah. Sure."

 "I was at the 09er Club, just minding my own business one day—"

 Sean scoffs. "You were our waitress, and you illegally recorded our conversation."

 She shrugs, shoulder brushing against Dick's arm. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. That Piznambia guy was having lunch with Sean, Lydia, and Jeff, sniveling about Veronica Mars, and how she always rejected him for Alpha Males. Logan Echolls, specifically. Actually...hold on." She retrieves her cell and flicks her fingers over the screen. "Luckily, I saved a local copy of the recording." 

 From the speakers, comes Sean's prissy, over-annunciated voice. "Logan Echolls is an unevolved Neanderthal. Listen Stosh, you've seen the outcomes of our test subjects. They make Captain America look weak and puny. Once you've completed your treatments, you'll redefine alpha male."

 A woman speaks in a high-pitched voice. Lydia, presumably. "You can throw Logan around like a ragdoll, if you so choose."

 Piznarski giggles. "I choose. I very much choose. My occipital bone—"

Lydia interrupts with a bored sigh. "Yeah. We've heard the story already. Go ahead, kill him. Do whatever you want to him, as long as it can't blow back on us."

The recording ends, and Ruby resumes her story. "I cornered Lydia in the bathroom and played the tape for her."

"You blackmailed her?" Weevil asks.

"No. I told her I wanted in. I'd even help Piznolio get Veronica, but in return, I wanted Logan for myself, and if any harm came to him at all - even a scratch - the recording would go public."

"Do you realize how creepy that is?" Wallace asks. "Logan hasn't given up on Veronica since high school.  You honestly thought you could lure him away with a cheap wig and an elaborate scheme? Better people have tried."

 "Obviously, not." Ruby sighs, exasperated. "But I'm a great actress. It's not hard to convince people I'm looney and harmless."

 "For the record, you totally convinced me." Dick says. "So, you joined Team Bad Guy as a double-agent, or something?"

 Sean speaks, his voice venomous. "That's exactly what she did. I warned them not to trust the bitch, that she was sabotaging everything, but Lydia and Jeff thought I was paranoid. 'Ruby's harmless,' they said. 'We can use her as bait,' they said. I should've trusted my instincts."

"I don't trust her, either," Wallace says. "She says all this now, but why didn't she call the police? Why didn't she bring in Veronica?"

"I intended to at first, but then...I couldn't."

"He has a point," Dick says. "And what about today? You've had ample opportunity to tell the truth. You could've given us a heads-up on what we were walking into instead of simpering and whining and clinging to Logan. Hell, even that Jeff dude leveled with us."

"I couldn't okay? And Jeff doesn’t know it yet, but he probably won’t survive the day.”

"Talk to us, Ruby." Weevil halts his bike, and turns his head, speaks softly. "Why are you holding back?"

"The eyelashes, Weevil? That's not fair." She sighs. "I'm not holding back, now. I held back earlier today – and for the past few weeks – because Veronica Mars is working with the mastermind. Or at least I presume he's the mastermind, he could be reporting to others."

Wallace makes a derisive snort. "Veronica would never work with Fitzpatrick. He's everything she stands against in the world." 

"Liam Fitzpatrick is not the mastermind. He provides volunteers for a share of the cut."

"And where does he get these volunteers?" Weevil asks.

"You can find them in any bar. Pathetic losers, crying in their beers over being friendzoned, or having sand kicked in their faces, or whatever. He gets them drunk, whispers promises about how everything will be different after their treatments, and reels them in. An army of 'Nice Guys'" 

"Oh hell." Wallace makes a choked sound. "This is my fault! Piz was staying at my place during his visit from New York. Something came up at work on the second night, and I had to cancel plans to meet him for drinks. Fitzpatrick must've gotten to him then." 

"No, it's not your fault." Ruby turns around, and lays a hand on his shoulder, ducking to look into his creepy pink eyes. "For every one volunteer, there were ten who walked away. Ten who opted out of quick-fix revenge or power or dominance or whatever. Piz stuck around because he was bitter and jealous, and delusional. And that says a lot coming from the me."

Dick is still working through the logic in his head. "So Fitzpatrick is out as the mastermind. It can't be Sean, because Ronnie wouldn't work with him. She is working with Jeff, but he seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so...not the boss. It's not me or Logan, obviously. That leaves...oh God. Not Mac!" 

Now, we’ll NEVER get to second base.

"The hacker? Why would you even go there?" Ruby groans, slowing her voice to a condescending drawl. "Since I have to spell things out...the mastermind is Wei Breitski. How was that not your logical conclusion?"

"Detective Wei Breitski?" Wallace demands. "The same guy who left the winery with Veronica, Logan and Keith to go find my antidote?" 

"That's the one. He thought he was being sneaky, meeting Sean and Lydia in secret, but Ruby Jetson sees everything. These catacombs don't only run under the house."

Sean groans.  “I told her I heard footsteps in the walls.  ‘It’s an old house, Sean’. ‘It’s Great Uncle Percy’s ghost, Sean’.  When will anyone ever listen to me?”

"What's the connection between a cop and hot pink, chemically-engineered, super soldiers?" Weevil asks. 

"Technically, only Piznabbit turned pink. And Wallace, I suppose. Lydia had this great plan to speed up production, or something. It didn't work, obviously. As for the connection? I'm not positive, but they whispered about some kind of West coast private army or mercenaries." 

"Okay, that's super fucked-up, and I'm admittedly, damn lucky to have escaped that fate," Wallace interrupts, "But I'm still stuck on part where Veronica thinks she can trust Wei, and you let her walk into danger."

"How was I supposed to warn her? He was always there, pretending to be innocent in that stupid bowler hat. I had to play dumb as long as he was around."  

Rooks speaks up. "You should have played dumber. Wei's the one who forced me to find you and shoot you."

Ruby spins around to attack, but Rooks shifts the wheelchair, using it a shield. "Hey! You already payed me back.  You knocked me unconscious, remember?"

"Maybe I'm in the mood for a replay." She stalks to the right.

He compensates with the wheelchair. "He didn't give me a choice, okay?"

"Stop it!" Wallace hits the manual brake lever, locking the wheelchair in place, and scowls at Ruby until she hangs her head in shame and slinks away. He waits until they're moving again to address Mr. Rooks. "That's what I don't understand. Despite your gross and highly illegal predilection for underaged girls, you were a damn good teacher, and really seemed to care about your students. How could you have fallen so low that you would attempt murder and consort with those evil bastards?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" Weevil asks.

"Not really," Dick answers. "I'd like to know the answer to that as well." 

When Rooks doesn't volunteer an explanation, Weevil sighs. "Katie VanVliet, the missing little girl, is his daughter." 

Wallace shakes his head. "Shouldn't his daughter be almost grown by now? The math doesn't work out."

"My daughter Olivia, will turn eighteen in a few months." 

"Oh. My. God." Ruby gasps. Tone reverent, she continues, "No wonder I felt an instant connection to Katie. It's like...I was meant to befriend her."

Dick scratches his head. "What am I missing." 

Wallace fills him in. "I’m gathering that the Van Vliet family must have adopted Susan Knight's daughter with Rooks, and our friend Sean here, along with Detective Wei, kidnapped her to keep Rooks and Jeff in line."

"Took you long enough." Weevil says, pushing his motorcycle into motion again. 

Dick turns to Sean. "That's harsh. Even for you."

Sean exhibits zero guilt or shame, merely gives him a 'what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it-sucka' smirk. 

Something switches inside Dick, and, what the hell? Other than Wallace, he's the only one who hasn't taken a turn at this douchebag. Rearing back, he demonstrates how a real head butt gets done.

The sickening crunch of Sean's nose is worth the blinding flash of pain behind Dick's eyes. Totally worth it.

With that out of his system, Dick helps Sean up off the ground. "Any more teeth?"

"Fuck you." Sean's upper lip moves as his tongue takes inventory. "You missed, asshole."

"Bummer."

"Couple more minutes," Ruby says. "We're almost to the barn."

"Finally." Weevil exhales. "We should try to figure out what comes next."

"So, talk," Dick says.

Weevil glares over his shoulder. "The problem is, we have two people needing saving, and I'm only one person. As nauseating as I find the idea of anybody else touching my baby, I have to put Wallace's survival ahead of that, so..." He swallows and points to Dick and Ruby. "Do either of you have any experience riding a motorcycle?"

Dick shakes his head. "Not really, man. Only four-wheelers."

"I've only ridden as a passenger," Ruby says.

"Dammit." Weevil hangs his head in frustration. He breathes audibly for a second, and then straightens. "Listen. I've known both of you forever, and you've both spent your lives convincing people to underestimate you. Whether out of strategy..." he addresses Ruby, then swings his eyes to Dick. "...or laziness. I don't care. This is the moment for you to step up."

"Hold that thought." Dick lifts a finger, and pulls out his phone. "Imma find you some motivational speech background music."

Weevil slaps him on the back of his head. "Stop fucking around. Somebody needs to force Sean's cooperation long enough to rescue that kid. Since I can't be in two places at once, it's up to you two."

"And me." Rooks says. "I'd do anything to help Katie."

"Imagine if you'd tried something earlier, instead of...I don't know...attempted murder?"

"This is it," Ruby says, as they come to an upward-leading ramp. She toggles a switch and a door swings open, revealing giant metal vats.

They all file through the opening, into the strangest barn Dick has ever seen. Not that he's spent a lot of time in barns or anything, but...is that a coffin?  Wallace’s coffin?

Weevil parks the bike, and crouches down in front of Wallace. "Okay, Fennel. This is it. We're gonna get you on that bike, and I'm gonna need you to hold on like your life depends upon it, okay?"

"No." Wallace swallows and shakes his head. Tears fill his strange pink eyes. "I don't think I can hold on. I'm scared."

Weevil lifts his eyes to the sky as if praying. "I don't know what else to do. I could leave by myself, drive far enough to get a cell signal and then call an ambulance, but how much time would it take to get here? And can you afford to wait?"

"I have an idea!" Ruby disappears around one of the giant vats, returning with a silver, donut shaped item. 

Five minutes later, Dick returns the pocket knife to Weevil. "Why does this feel so familiar?"

"This is WRONG!" Wallace moans, cheek pressed to Weevil's back. "All KINDS of wrong!"

"You think I like it?" Weevil snaps. "I'm all for poetic justice and everything, but not at the expense of my favorite leather jacket."

"Can you two stop with the bickering?" Ruby stands with both hands on her hips. "Just be grateful that you're safe and it would take a hurricane to knock Wallace off that bike."

It's not an exaggeration. There has to be fifty layers of duct tape, binding Wallace to Weevil.

They'd stood on either side of the bike passing the roll back and forth. Dick to Ruby in front. Ruby to Dick in back. Front. Back. Front. Back. It might take hours to get the smell of tape off his hands.  

They move as a group to the small door in the southeast corner. Ruby opens it, and turns back. "There's a service road right behind those trees. Follow it for--"

"RONNNKKKKA? THERE YOU ARE!"

She slams the door and bolts it. "Now what?"

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck." Weevil mutters. He lets out a sobbing laugh, and lifts an eyebrow. "Well...it worked once before?"

"Huh-uh!  No! Nope!" Dick shakes his head. "Negative.  I've already pissed my pants once today. It's somebody else's turn."

"Don't look at me." Sean crosses his arms. "I'm the only one who can take you to Katie."

Mr. Rooks – who was tasked with holding Ruby's leather jacket while they were duct-taping – straightens up and slips his arms through the slightly too-short sleeves, flexing where it's too tight along the upper back. He marches over to Dick, snatches the blonde wig, and drops it haphazardly onto his own head, not bothering to adjust the fit.

Well that’s embarrassing. Would it have killed somebody to remind me I was still wearing that? 

“It’s been fun getting…reacquainted.”  Rooks unbolts the barn door and, with a sad wave to the group, runs out into the night, shouting out in girl-voice, "Here I am, Baby! Come and get me!"

"Well damn." Weevil shakes his head. "Didn't think he had it in him." He waits until they're out of sight, kick starts his bike, and pulls away, looking back over his shoulder once.

"And then there were three," Dick says. Because it sounds kind of ominous.  To Ruby, he asks, “Wanna make out?”  

“Ewww.” She scrunches her nose with disgust, but there’s a gleam in her eye that makes him think it’s all for show.  

He grins.  I’ve got your number. "In that case, let's go rescue that kid."

"Let's not." Sean fakes a yawn and stretches. "You're all assholes, and I think I've changed my mind."

Oh, hell no! 

Dick draws from his waistband, and pulls back the safety. "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of my gun." He pauses for dramatic effect, and slips on his sunglasses, while the opening theme for CSI-Miami plays in his head.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by…  @nicemom93.  Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, October 11th. 

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around...Part 25

This is PART 25 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 25 is written by @nicemom93

[Part 24]

"Veronica, get outside. Now."

Logan's voice is commanding, and she takes an instinctive step back, but then her own take charge personality kicks in and points out, he's going in, why wouldn't you?

"I don't think so."

Logan is already beside Lydia, Leatherman in hand, cutting through the gasoline-soaked rope binding her to the workbench.

"Where'd you get that?" Veronica asks, moving toward him.

He gestures at his belt where the multi-tool case that she hadn't previously noticed past the distraction of his chest and abs is attached. "Brought it when I wasn't sure where you were. Never hurts to be prepared." He glances up at the timer (1:48) and then to Veronica. "Please get out of here." His voice is now pleading.

"Not without you," she responds confidently. Lydia's still bound hands suddenly fall forward, free from the table. Logan moves her feet and Lydia begins tugging at the cloth gag.

Veronica drops to her knees, feeling the puddles of gasoline soaking through her jeans. "Here, let me help you." She twists the cloth and slides it over Lydia's chin. "Okay, so how does the bomb work?"

"How would I know?" Lydia cries in her shrill voice. "I'm the victim, you stupid bit—"

"Don't make me put the gag back on," Veronica says and even in the tense moment, she hears Logan snicker. "We know you're in on this whole thing, so don't waste our time with lies." The rope holding her ankles to the table gives way then and Logan pulls both women to their feet.

"Doesn't matter, let's just get out of here," he says, his voice cool and commanding again. "Keith, Wei, if you're listening, we're coming out and we need to clear the area, now!"

"Hang on, just a second," Veronica interjects. "The antidote. Is it in here, Lydia?"

"How would I—"

"Cut the crap and answer the question," Logan growls, giving the woman a quick shake.

"Yes, it's in the little safe still; we didn't have the key." She gestures with her bound hands toward the explosive device (1:26), sitting on top of a small metal box. The missing safe.

"Oh, fuck me," Logan says.

"Later, honey, when we're done cheating death again." Veronica moves over to the timer, peering around and behind it as she speaks. "You know how exhilarating that can be." She steals a quick peek over her shoulder at him. In spite of the circumstances, she's getting the smolder eyes she expected. What she hadn't anticipated was the smirk. She wrinkles her brow at him, head tilting in question, then he taps his ear and she remembers. Ugh...Dad.

"Okay, Lydia, last chance," she says, hoping that Keith had missed that whole exchange, "what do you know about this bomb?"

"Nothing. I'm not into explosives." She hops toward the door since her ankles are still tied together. "We need to get out of here."

"Nuh uh, you're not leaving until we're ready to go," she says and Logan grabs Lydia's arm, holding her in place. Veronica runs her finger along a wire trailing out of the timer (1:06), and it shifts atop the safe. "Oh, seriously?" She lifts the bomb and it comes off the safe completely. No attachments. "Either our mad bomber is an idiot, or they didn't expect anyone to stick around long enough to really look at it. It's not even attached to the safe." She places the bomb carefully on the floor and grabs the safe. "We got what we came for, come on." She starts for the office door, Logan immediately on her heels.

"Hey! What about me?" Lydia shrieks and they turn toward her, hopping after them.

"Oh yeah," Veronica says, "honey, can you help the criminal?" In two long strides, Logan is next to Lydia again, bending at the knees and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey!" she shrieks again.

"Shut it, or you're hopping. We need to get out of here." She bolts across the warehouse floor for the outside door. She can hear Logan running behind her, coupled with Lydia's sounds of indignation. As she bursts out into the night, she sees her father and Wei standing beside Keith's car. Jeff and Mac are both sitting in the back seat, peering anxiously out.

"We need to get clear; expect an explosion in less than a minute," Veronica shouts as they run for their car. She sees Keith and Wei jump into Keith's car as she dives into Dick's truck, scrambling across to the passenger side. Logan tosses Lydia unceremoniously into the back seat and jumps into the driver's seat.

They're nearly to the gate of the yard when simultaneously, fire trucks and police cars appear on the road in front of them just as a flash of light from behind illuminates the inside of the SUV. A low 'oomph' follows the light. Veronica turns and sees the warehouse is still standing but flames are shooting through the roof and fire can be seen through the windows. With the degree of threat now known, Logan pulls the SUV over out of the way of the firetrucks racing in to battle the blaze. Out of the corner of her eye, Veronica sees her father do the same but her attention is now focused on the safe in her lap.

"Keith or Wei must have called 9-1-1 when they heard us talking about the bomb."

"Probably," Veronica agrees. "You've still got the key, right?

"Yes, I do." Logan leans to the side and pulls the key out of his back pocket, handing it to Veronica. She pops it in the lock and the door pops open, revealing another door, this one with an electronic keypad.

"Shitfuckhelldamn," Veronica curses. "Now there's a combination?" She glances back at Lydia. "What's the combination?"

Lydia looks pretty smug for someone with her hands and feet bound. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Veronica turns further to give Lydia the full weight of her glare. "If Wallace Fennel is not back to 100% when this is over, I will make you sorry that you were ever born. Believe me."

"Believe her," Logan adds, then reaches for Veronica's messenger bag. "She looks tiny and harmless, but that is an illusion." He pulls out the journal, then snaps on the map light, and holds the book up to it.  "Didn't you say there were numbers in this?" He flips through the pages.

"Last page. But I thought they were coordinates. Wei said he gave me coordinates."

"Yeah, if you got these from him, then yeah, these two—" he points at the first two series of numbers "—are coordinates. This, however..." he points to a third string of numbers.

"Not a coordinate?"

"I don't think so. So maybe it's the combination." He smiles at her. "I think we should try it out at least."

She nods. 'Hopefully, if it isn't the code we need, it won't lock this up so it won't open." She glares back at Lydia again. "Is this right?" Lydia is silent and Veronica makes up her mind.

"Okay, Lieutenant, let's do this thing."

Logan reads the numbers off slowly and Veronica enters them. Ten digits later, he stops. "Okay, then a hash-tag and we're done."

She presses the last button and the mechanism beeps, then clicks, and the door pops ajar.

Spontaneous "woot!"s burst from both of them as Veronica reaches inside and pulls out a small bottle filled with green liquid.

"This is it?" She hands the bottle to Logan and looks in the safe again. "No instructions to make more? No instructions for use?" She looks over her shoulder. "You had better know how this works."

"Actually—see me cooperating—lift the rubber bottom in the safe."

Veronica does as instructed and finds a single sheet of paper with what appears to be a formula written on it. She flips it over and finds another formula on the back. She glares at Lydia again. "Let me guess: one side's the pink stuff to make the monsters, one side's the green stuff to cure them."

"They aren't monsters," Lydia says, sounding almost insulted. "They're super soldiers. Like Captain America? Who wouldn't want to know how to make Captain America?"

Veronica shakes her head. "Okay, one side makes super soldiers, the other turns them back into 98-pound weaklings?"

"You had better not let Wallace hear you say that," Logan says, sotto voice.

"Yes, that's right. So, what do I get for helping you?" Lydia asks and Logan snorts.

"You have managed to avoid me jumping back there and choking the life out of you," Veronica says matter-of-factly. "Yet." She opens the car door and slides out. "Dad!"

All four occupants of the other car have exited it and are standing, looking over at the burning warehouse. Norris Clayton is with them now, talking to Mac. Actually, he might be flirting with Mac, judging from the smiles on both their faces. Wei is grasping Jeff's arm, presumably to keep him from bolting. At Veronica's call, Keith looks up and heads for her.

"Sounds like you got the antidote?" he asks.

"How did you..."

He taps her ear. "The ear buds? Remember?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, I keep forgetting those."

"That was apparent earlier," he says, grimacing and her face warms.

"Ugh, sorry. I think I keep forgetting because I can't hear you guys. Why can you hear us and we can't hear you?"

Keith pulls a tiny remote out of his pocket and waves it at her. "It's in the settings." He shows her the remote. There are six sliding switches on it. Four are lit, two with the switch pressed to the left, two with it to the right. The other two are dark, set in the center of the switch range. Keith moves one of the lit switches from the right to the left. "That just put you on listen only. Logan's still on transmit, Wei and I were on listen only." He moves another lit switch from left to right. "Now Wei's on transmit too."

A new voice rolls into Veronica's ear. "--see if I can get Keith to lend me his car and I'll take you and your sister into custody. That'll be easier than having to go with one of the Balboa County deputies. I don't want to have to kill another cop to get the two of you away. This has gotten out of control."

Veronica meets her dad's widened eyes. "Oh shit," she whispers. "Wei's in on it with them."

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by…  @ghostcat3000  Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, October 18th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around...(Part 21)

This is PART 21 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 21 is written by @vmsteenbeans .

[Part 20]

“Veronica?”

She pulls her attention from the window, focusing on her dad.  She can tell by his expression that he’s called her name more than once.  “Huh?”

Keith sits down on the free spot on the couch, next to Jeff, and turns to face his daughter.  “Before I tell you what I know, how about you catch me up to speed on what you know?”  He nods to Logan.  “And maybe explain why your beau is dressed like Malibu Nightmare Ken?”

Veronica sighs.  “Well, it all started at Thunderballs.”

“Thunder what?”

“Balls,” Logan supplies with a helpful smirk.  “The new club down on the waterfront.  For gentlemen who prefer the company of other gentlemen.  And like listening to people sing off-key.”

“Um, pardon me, but some of the people who sing there are very much on key,” Ruby protests.

“That’s debatable,” Mac mutters.

“Also irrelevant,” Keith speaks up.  “Go on.”

“I met my client Jeff Van Vliet there.  He’s the useless sack of human sitting next to you.  This is his vineyard.  Give my dad a wave, Jeff.”  Veronica takes a breath and continues.  “So, let’s see.  Woke up in a meadow with no memory, made my way here, met up with Logan.  Turns out the wine they’re making here has a very robust bouquet.”

“Less oakey and more coke-y,” Logan explains.  “Or something along those lines.”

“White sin-fandel?”  Mac suggests.

“Ha!”  Dick crosses the room to give her a high five.  “Nice.”

“Whatever it is, it makes people super strong and crazy fast,” Wei speaks up.  “And it’s causing some major problems for us in San Diego.”

“Detective Breitski?” Keith guesses.  Wei nods and the former sheriff shakes his hand.  “Leo told me you’ve been working with my daughter on this case.”

“Yeah, we’ve been trying.  But things have gotten a little, uh, weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird like a pink Hulk chasing us,” Dick replies.  “And someone barbequing Logan’s beamer.  And, like, zero cell service.  I mean, what’s up with that?”

“I saw the car on my way in,” Keith says with a grimace.  “My condolences, Logan.  That was a fine piece of machinery.  Now what’s this about Hulk?”

“Well, uh, there was a coffin filled with the pink goo superdrug Jeff and his sister Lydia have been concocting,” Veronica explains.  “ And it turns out there was someone inside of the coffin.  And that person-“

“Is here,” Logan interrupts.

Mac, Dick and Veronica all rush over to the window.  Sure enough, the pink-tinted man is making his way towards them, albeit at a much slower speed.  He’s limping and clutching his ribs, but he’s only steps away from the front door.

Veronica stares at the man, trying to decide if they should run, hide or fight.  And as she stares, she begins to think that there’s something familiar about him.  Now that he’s moving at a more human speed, he almost looks like…

“Oh my god.”  She turns to Logan, eyes wide.  “Oh my god, what have we done?”

Mac gasps, and she and Veronica exchange looks.  As one they turn and race towards the door, Logan and Dick close on their heels.  Veronica throws it open and rushes outside, ignoring Logan’s protests.

“Wallace!”

He falls forward, crashing into her and clutching painfully at her bicep.  She puts her arm around his waist and Mac does the same, helping him make his way into the house.  Dick and Logan take over at the threshold, carrying Wallace back into the library.

“Up,” Logan tells Jeff and Mr. Rooks.

They comply and he and Dick deposit Wallace onto the couch.  Veronica snatches the throw off the top of the couch and crouches down next to Wallace, using the blanket to wipe some of the congealed pink liquid off his face.  His pupils are no longer dilated, but his breathing is rapid.

Logan is holding Wallace’s wrist lightly, a look of concentration on his face.  He glances at Veronica.  “That can’t be right.  His heart rate is almost two hundred beats per minute.  He should be-“

“Dead,” Wallace mutters, shivering hard.  “And you all t-tried hard enough, d-didn’t you?  Why the hell’d you h-hit me with the car?”

“You… you were chasing us,” Mac says weakly.

“Yeah, I w-was trying to catch up w-with you fools!”

“Dude, totally our bad,” Dick replies.  “We thought you were the Hulk.”

“Wallace, we are so sorry…”  Veronica clutches his hand and looks up at her dad.  But she’s not five years old, and he can’t fix all her boo boos anymore.

Her gaze shifts towards Logan, who is currently covering Wallace up with the blanket.  Logan glances up at her when he’s done, his expression telegraphing his own concern.  He reaches for her free hand, giving it a light squeeze, and she smiles at him gratefully.

Veronica looks back down at her friend, a dozen questions on her lips.  But he’s shaking even more violently now, his teeth rattling and his eyes fluttering rapidly.  He’s in no condition to explain how he wound up trapped in that coffin.  And, more importantly, he needs help.

She releases Wallace’s hand and walks over to Jeff.  “Listen to me.  If something happens to the guy on that couch, you’re going to be very, very sorry.  We need the antidote.  Right now.  So you need to figure out where your sister went with that safe.”

“Look, I’m sorry about your friend.  I really am.  But you don’t understand.  If Sean finds out that I’m helping you, my sister is dead.”

“Your sister is the one who got us into this mess!”

“No, not my sister Lydia,” Jeff says quickly.  “My sister Katie.  He took her to make sure we’d cooperate.  She’s only twelve, and if something happens to her…”

Veronica shuts her eyes tightly and takes a deep breath, opening her eyes as she exhales.  “Okay, that complicates things.  But we are talking about the same Sean Friedrich, right?  I mean, I know people can change after high school, but I’m still not convinced that he’s Lex Luthor, criminal mastermind.”

“Because he’s not,” Keith speaks up behind her.   She turns to face him, and he continues.  “According to Leo, the guy pulling the strings is Sean’s supplier.  Liam Fitzpatrick.”

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @brittany4824. Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, September 20th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around...(Part 22)

This is PART 22 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 22 is written by @brittany4824 

[Part 21]

Veronica sighs and looks up toward the sky, pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Liam? Really?” Veronica asks her dad incredulously. Keith nods and Veronica turns to look at her best friend who looks worse for wear on a couch. She had put Wallace through a lot of crap through the years, but this was more serious than usual. She didn’t want to know what would happen if they didn’t find some sort of cure for him.

Not to mention, the dozens of people in San Diego, she mentally reminds herself.

“Okay, so Liam is a little more frightening than Sean, but I’ve dealt with that bozo plenty of times. He can’t be too hard to find, right?” Veronica turns to face her dad who looks a little worried.

And Keith never looks worried.

“Shit,” Veronica breaths. Logan steps closer to her— whether it’s out of instinct to protect or whether he wants to provide comfort, she isn’t sure. But she really doesn’t have time for any of this. In fact they’re wasting time standing around as it is.

She turns to Jeff who looks pale. She can’t find it in herself to feel sorry for him. Though she would feel bad if his little sister were to pay for his stupid choices.

“Jeff,” she practically growls, “Call your damn sister. Tell her you lost us. Tell her you just won the nobel fucking prize for all I care. We can track her phone if she answers.” Veronica turns to Mac who is now by Wallace’s side looking sullen. “Right Mac?”

“I mean, sure. I have some equipment in my bag that’s sitting out in the car. I always come prepared. But we would need her on for at least a minute for us to be able to track her.”

“It’s our only chance at figuring out where she is,” Veronica points out. Mac nods and quietly makes her leave to retrieve her equipment.

“Okay, Jeff. You’ve helped create this mess. So here’s what you’re going to do…”

—

A few minutes and a phone call later, they have a location for Lydia. She was stupid enough to buy the story that Jeff had lost the gang because of the Pink Hulk. The Pink Hulk who was actually Veronica’s best friend and who’s currently shaking even harder and looks horrible. But Veronica can’t focus on that. She can’t let her mind wander to a place where Wallace doesn’t make it out of this thing okay.

Which brings her back to the little red dot that’s blinking on Mac’s tablet. It’s Lydia’s location, and if Veronica had to bet, Sean’s. She doesn’t even know if Sean or Lydia have the answer to where the antidote is located, but they have to know something. And at this point any information is good information.

“Mac,” Veronica shouts to the backseat where Mac’s eyes are glued to her phone screen. “Any updates in San Diego?”

“Not much,” Mac admits. “But I think that must be good, right? It means that nothing significant has happened?”

Veronica hopes her best friend is right. Mac, Logan, and Veronica are currently on their way to the warehouse where Lydia is supposedly located. Keith is following suit with Wei and Jeff. They left Wallace with Dick (which was not Veronica’s first choice of babysitter, but he would have to do) and Ruby (again, Veronica was putting her best friend’s care into two idiots, but they were more useful there than tracking criminals with the rest of them).

“Okay, we’re getting closer,” Veronica tells Logan who is calmly following the directions she gives him. She’s glad he’s the one driving. He seems so stoic and eerily void of emotion at the moment. She briefly finds herself wondering if it’s because of his time in the military, but she brushes it aside because she doesn’t have time to open that can of worms.

“Tell me when to turn,” Logan says softly. He reaches his hand to take Veronica’s. She welcomes his touch and feels her anxiety lessen when he gives her a reassuring squeeze.

“Just a couple more… Here! Turn left here,” she tells him.

He pulls his hand away from her, and Veronica turns her attention to the back of the car where Mac has watched their exchange. “You ready to listen in on the conversation? The bugs are ready and working?”

Mac nods and turns her laptop screen to face Veronica. “It’s ready when you are.”

Veronica isn’t sure she’ll ever be ready. Hell, they were about to stop a terrorist attack… or at least be the damage control for one if it already happened.

The car comes to a stop, and Veronica takes a deep breath.

Here goes nothing…

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @lisawolfe80 . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, September 27th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 20)

This is PART 20 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 20 is written by @missismess 

[Part 19]

Veronica's tolerance for highly stressful situations is well established; nonetheless this might be one of the more surreal situations she’s ever been in. She often finds herself investigating cases that hold personal significance for her. The ones that resonate with her own life- this happened to me, this happened to someone I used to know, this happens every day, and every day I fight back. Every day I remain standing, every day I don’t bend, I don’t break. These cases draw her in because of their cold, hard essence and she solves them. She delivers some kind of bittersweet justice to her clients, because after all, they still have to live in this town, in this god-forsaken county, having lost whatever it is they lost.  

The difference she makes is miniscule in the grand scheme of things, but it is there. She knows it. It gives her purpose and drive.

But this. The stakes seem absurdly higher. Terrorism? Biological warfare? And here she is in a damn vineyard that neither she nor anyone else seem able to leave, but rather it functions like a black hole, attracting element after element to its ever-growing core. If this is the kind of enemy she's facing, she needs more help.

She takes inventory of her somewhat questionable companions. Dick, Ruby, Logan in a pink donkey shirt. And herself; the forgetful detective. Even the more useful members of her team seem somewhat helpless. How much Pixie Spy Magic™ is this going to take?

The fact that Keith's here lets her off the hook in a way. She can step outside herself and gain perspective. And her new angle tells her she's in way over her head. She has no idea what she's doing, and that insight paralyzes her. She always has direction, even when she's wrong. And now she's a tad embarrassed to realize she needs her dad.

"You're here!" She lets out with a shaky smile. Keith returns the smile, albeit distinctly steadier.

"Astute observation, number one daughter." He walks up to her and kisses her brow in that obvious way of his.

"Well?" Veronica says, surprisingly amused, calm. A luxury she can afford around her father.

"What?" Keith counters.

"Oh, Magic Eight Ball! You said something about spilling the identity of a certain mysterious mastermind? Can you spill it yourself or do I have to crack you open?"  

"In due time. And if I'm to be likened to any sort of orb I prefer it to be a baseball."

"That's it," Veronica says, rolling up her sleeves.

"Easy, daughter. It wouldn't be much of a reveal if it didn't arrive in style, it's all in the delivery."

Although she sighs loudly to vocalize her dismay, it's at this moment that everything slows down for Veronica. Time suddenly crawls. She stares at her father, her relief at his presence tangible. She distantly hears the upset chatter of her partners, feels her own surprisingly steady heartbeat, and smiles internally. After all, she’s built for this.

She sits down in an armchair between two bookshelves and skims the backs of the books, in a weirdly absent-minded fashion. A window is open and she feels the breeze on her face and listens to the sounds of the vineyard. There’s that bird again. Three shrill beeps. A pause. And again. And there's a sound of thunder, slowly rising, from a storm approaching, or motorcycle engines.

"Oh, no." Veronica mumbles. "More fodder for the black hole."

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @vmsteenbeans . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, September 13th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 23)

This is PART 23 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 23 is written by @lisawolfe80 

[Part 22]

Veronica isn’t terribly surprised that the warehouse is located in a mostly abandoned section of Neptune. As the day starts to fade away and dusk sets in, the dilapidated state of the buildings around them only increases the level of anxiety she’s already struggling with. Pull yourself together, Veronica. Wallace’s life is at stake here.

Keith is already walking quickly over to the SUV as Logan and Veronica climb out of the vehicle.

“Are you sure about this, honey?” he asks, apprehension and concern not only etched on his face, but in his tone as well.

Veronica does her best to give him a stoic reassuring smile and nods, worried that her voice might reveal her own uncertainty about how this might go. Logan’s unwavering confidence is a welcome beacon in this shitstorm they’ve found themselves in.  

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to her,” Logan assures Keith as he reaches out and squeezes Veronica’s hand. She glances momentarily at Logan, hoping he can tell just how much she really does appreciate everything he’s done for her--and not just counting today.

Keith gives him a curt nod, although his expression appears just as worried.

“You’ll be right outside, as will Wei,” Veronica, finally steadying her nerves enough to speak, tells Keith as she gestures to where Wei and Jeff are now standing next to him. “You’ll be able to hear everything that’s going on so you can rush in if we need backup. Hopefully that won’t be necessary at all with me and the Lieutenant handling things.” She glances up at Logan, who gives her a quick confirming nod as he gently squeezes her hand again.

“Be careful, Veronica,” her dad says with a sigh, obviously well aware that he’s not going to be able to change her mind after their rather heated discussion before leaving the winery.

Veronica nods and takes a deep breath, looking up at Logan once again.

“Let me at least take the lead—for once—okay?” he asks, although she can tell it’s really more of a command, even if he’s trying his best to give her the option to disagree.

Given that they are in this mess entirely due to her agreeing to work with Leo and Wei on this case, she gladly acquiesces, and waves her hand for him to lead the way.

For the first time that day, luck seems to be on their side; the side door to the warehouse isn’t locked. She can tell by the slight frown that ghosts across Logan’s face that he’s not sure that’s a good sign, though. He cautiously enters the building with her right on his heels and they find themselves in a mostly empty large open space. Big exposed beams span across the interior contrasted by a heavily stained old concrete floor with cracks and spots where large divots have formed and not been repaired. No lights are on, but there are ample windows and enough light from outside to provide them with sufficient illumination to see the interior. The fact that there hasn’t been any sound or movement is disconcerting, but Mac had confirmed Lydia’s cell phone signal was still inside when they’d climbed out of the SUV. They should have been able to spot anyone leaving before they came in.

There’s a smaller office-type structure in the center of the warehouse, and Logan gestures to that with his head. She nods in response, understanding him, and they start cautiously walking toward it. Logan’s height allows him to peer in the high windows on the office door before he opens it. As he mumbles ‘fuck’ to himself, her adrenaline starts to pump even faster. She’s a little surprised at how quickly he opens the door though, but when she sees what lies on the opposite side of the room she realizes why. Lydia.

Gone is the confident woman who had quarreled with her at the winery only a few hours before, replaced by a terrified woman stretched out on the ground and tied to the base of a large workbench. A large piece of cloth serves as a gag in her mouth and her mascara is smeared from tears running down her face. Her hands are tied to one end of the workbench legs while her feet are tied to the other. Her previously well-coiffed curls are now a tangled mess and it appears in her attempt to break free, she’s lost her shoes which lay disheveled near her feet. She’s thrashing and trying to free herself from the ropes but obviously is not having any luck getting free.

For a second, Veronica wonders why seeing them there to potentially free her hasn’t calmed her down. That thought quickly vanishes as Veronica becomes keenly aware of the smell in the room. Gasoline. She also suddenly realizes that Lydia’s dress looks different than it did at the winery and why. It’s wet. Lydia’s eyes dart between Logan and Veronica, who are still standing just inside the doorway, and a point slightly past them along the wall as she continues to strain with all her might against her bindings.

Veronica chances a look in the same direction as Lydia. “Double fuck,” Veronica groans as she spots the detonator, her mind frantically registering that the timer just fell below two minutes.

 Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by…  @mysilverylining . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, October 4th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 19)

This is PART 19 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 19 is written by @marshmallowtasha 

 [Part 18]

“Now we know why Lydia disappeared,” Veronica sighs, dropping her head in frustration and spinning around to face the others.

Logan takes a quick step and grabs Jeff by the collar, pushing him up against the wall.  “OK, asshole.  I’m done with the Scooby Doo act.  Where is she?”

Jeff pales, his feet shuffling as he hangs a few inches in the air.  “I --”

Veronica swats Logan’s arm, not particularly convincingly. “Dear, put the bad man down.  It’s poor form to kill the guy who has the answers to your questions. Besides, you’ve used up your lifetime allotment of get out of jail free cards.”

When Logan drops Jeff the few inches to the ground, he smirks into his face as he backs away to let Veronica step past him.  “You were better off with me.  This one’s feistier than she looks.” He pinches her butt to make her jump, proving his point.

“Damn it, Logan, it’s not the time!” Veronica glares at him and then turns to Jeff, shooting off question after question.  “How big is the safe? Could she carry it far?” Does she have help? Where would she go? Who’s the Telly Monster? Who’s --”

Logan cuts her off.  “You opted for a Sesame Street reference? We really do need to get you to a hospital.”

“-- your boss?” Veronica finishes her rant as she covers Logan’s mouth with her hand. She turns to him.  “Can you please make yourself useful and drag his sorry ass upstairs? We need to stop running around and figure this out logically. There’s something we’re not seeing.”

“Sir, yes sir!” With a smart salute and a click of his heels, he drags Jeff up the stairs and the others follow.  

Everyone settles in the library. Dick stands to one side and slightly behind a leather couch on which sits Rooks, now more or less conscious, and Jeff.  Wei stands by the other end.  A still moaning Ruby is huddled in an overstuffed chair. Mac sits at a desk, poking at a tablet miraculously appearing out of nowhere. Veronica paces back and forth, running her hands over her face to clear her thoughts, while Logan hovers by the window, looking out for the pink-crazed man.

“This would be so much easier with my white board,” she mutters then takes a deep breath and begins running down the information they already know.

“OK folks, here’s what we’ve got.  First, there’s some kind of terrorist attack on San Diego tied to this pink Kool-Aid stuff that makes people superhuman. Second, Lydia made off with the safe that has the only known antidote, but no key to get it out. Third, the Van Vliet family business is not wine, but drugs. Ruby is somehow involved.  And Sean Friedrich.”

Mac and Dick’s heads shoot up, and they say, in unison, “Sean?!”

Ignoring them, Veronica continues. “Mac, have you figured out what’s going on in San Diego?”

Shaking her head to clear her surprise, Mac sits up straight and starts poking at the tablet again.  “Nothing good and nothing reliable yet.  But from what I can tell, there have been several violent scenes in different parts of town.  I’ve found reports of at least 12 different ones so far.”

“Casualties?”

Mac just shrugs and shakes her head.  

“We need to hurry,” Veronica concludes and turns back to the couch, sizing up her prisoners. Her eyes, focus on Ruby.  “Ruby...speak,” she orders.

Ruby whimpers her story.  “Lydia promised that I’d get my shot with Logan if I helped her. Julie from the bar called her to tell her you were there with Jeff.  She told me to get over there and get you out of the way.  I figured if I sent Logan a picture of you with Jeff, then he’d get all jealous and break up with you.  You’d be catatonic, cuz, well, obvs, and I’d be there to help Logan get over you. You’d be out of Lydia’s way, and I’d have Logan. Win-win.”

Veronica groans.  “You were her best option? Slim pickings.”

“Hey!” Ruby cries, indignant, but Veronica has already moved on, her voice lowered sympathetically. “Jeff, you seem like a decent guy, despite this mess.  I don’t think you meant to be part of a terrorist attack.  Millions of people will get hurt, Jeff.  We need to stop it.  You need to help us.”

Jeff’s face goes completely blank and his shoulders slump slightly. His voice is detached, monotone. “Fine, you’re right. Lydia’s probably gone. We’re doomed anyway.”

“Finally!” Logan exclaims from over by the window.

“Yeah,” Veronica adds. “Now tell us who your boss is, because there’s no way that Sean Friedrich thought any of this up.”

“Not what I meant, snookums,” Logan interrupts, and points towards the library door.

“Howdy guys and dolls! Fine day for a mystery!” In saunters Keith, his eyes quickly sizing up Veronica’s state despite his glib tone.  Reassured that she’s fine, he announces to the room, “I believe I can shine some light on Mr. Van Vliet’s boss.”

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @missismess . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, September 6th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 18)

This is PART 18 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 18 is written by @heavenli24

[Part 17]

“Shit. Fuck.” Veronica curses, staring down at the unconscious Rooks in shock. “Guys, never mind pink zombie guy, we’ve got even bigger problems.”

“What did he say?” Logan looks from Rooks to her with trepidation.

“That terrorist threat in San Diego?” she says. “It’s all connected. The super human strength, the drugs. They’re leading some kind of rebellion.”

“Shit.” Logan shakes his head. “That’s fucked up.”

“So, what do we do?” says Dick impatiently. “Pink dude isn’t gonna wait around for us to get our shit together.”

“I don’t know, Dick, okay?” Veronica’s starting to panic. How do we get out of this? “Anyone got any ideas?”

Dick shrugs. “We outdrove it before. Can’t we do it again?”

“And go where?” she snaps irritably. “He’s blocking the road.”

“What if we just floor it?” suggests Logan, as the crazy guy starts moving toward them. “Drive straight at him. At the very least, we might catch him off-guard.”

“Would that work?” questions Mac, looking to Veronica. “We don’t wanna kill the guy… right?”

“Well, who knows if it can even get hurt with all those drugs in him?” Veronica shrugs, out of ideas. “Guess it’s worth a shot. Go for it, Dick.”

“On it.”

As the hulking figure starts towards them, rapidly gaining speed, Dick hits the gas, pedal pressed to the floor. The SUV lurches forward, speeding across the field directly towards the pink zombie-man. Veronica cringes, squeezing her eyes shut as the car swerves to the left and there’s a loud thump against the passenger side. The car rocks with the force.

“Well, that’s gonna leave a big-ass dent,” mutters Dick, though he doesn’t slow down.

Opening her eyes, Veronica looks behind them to see the pink man slumped on the ground, unconscious. She just hopes he’s just unconscious and not, you know, dead. Which would be bad.

“Whoo, we did it!” Dick pumps his fist in the air, then, realizing he’s driving, puts his hand back on the wheel. “Now, let’s get out of here.”                   

Finally, thinks Veronica, as they head down the service road at full speed. We’re finally going back to civilization.

“Wait!” exclaims Mac a few moments later, hand clutching Dick’s arm. “There’s someone up ahead.”

Logan sits forward, trying to get a glimpse. “It’s Wei. He’s got Jeff handcuffed. Dick, pull over.”

“What?” Dick looks back at Logan like he’s crazy. “No way.”

“Dick, do it,” Logan orders in his all-business, Navy tone. He glances toward Veronica. “We need to know what that key is for. If there’s some kind of zombie coup going down in San Diego, we gotta know what’s causing it and how to stop it. I think the key could be, well, the key.”

“Yeah, good point,” Veronica agrees, albeit reluctantly. “Stop the car, Dick.”

“Seriously?” Dick scowls. “You people are crazy.”

Even so, he hits the brake and the SUV slows. Logan opens the door, gesturing urgently to the two figures.

“Get in. Quick.”

He ushers Wei and Jeff into the back row seats next to Ruby, who rolls her eyes and sighs in disgust, hugging her injured arm to her chest.

“Are you okay?” Veronica asks Wei.

“I’m fine.” The detective nods towards the unconscious Rooks. “Who’s this guy?”

“Chuck Rooks,” she says. “Ex-Neptune high-school teacher turned… who knows what. He’s in on this too. He shot at Ruby and Logan.”

As Dick starts driving again, putting more distance between them and the crazy pink zombie man, Logan digs the key out of his pocket and turns in his seat.

“Okay, Jeff, buddy. It’s time to start talking.” He holds up the key. “What’s the key for? And don’t tell me ‘nothing’. We’re dealing with dead bodies, crazy people with super-human strength and a connected ‘terror threat’ in San Diego. We don’t have time for bullshit.”

Jeff squares his jaw, refusing to look at Logan.

“Lydia told us it opens a secret wine cellar,” Logan continues, “but this key’s too small for a door. So why don’t you tell us what it really opens?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” spits Jeff defiantly.

“Dude, you’re handcuffed, stuck in a car with a cop, a navy officer and a private detective, and there’s some crazy, super-strong, goo-soaked dude trying to attack us,” pipes up Dick from the front seat. “I’d talk if I were you.”

“Fine.” Jeff scowls, then admits. “It opens a safe, okay?”

“Finally we’re getting somewhere,” Veronica says, exchanging a look with Logan. “What’s in the safe?”

Jeff sighs. “An antidote. To the drug.”

“An antidote?” repeats Veronica. “So, we can put a stop to all this craziness?”

Van Vliet nods.

“So, where is it? The safe?” Logan demands to know. “It’s on the estate somewhere, right?”

Another nod. “It’s in the main house.”

“Take us there. Now,” Logan orders. Turning to Dick, he adds, “Drive us back.”

With only a slight grumble, Dick complies and a couple of minutes later, he pulls up in front of the house, pulling up short of the charred ruins of Logan’s car.

“Out.” Veronica speaks this time, as Logan opens the door and climbs out, gesturing for Wei and Jeff to follow.

“Mac, Dick, you watch Rooks. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. I’m going inside.” Veronica gets out of the car, easing the still unconscious Rooks down onto the seat. “And keep an eye out for the Creature from the Pink Lagoon too.”

As she joins Logan, Wei and Jeff, Logan smirks. “Pink Lagoon, huh? Well, it’s an improvement on Frankenstein’s Monster.”

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters as Jeff leads them into the house and down into the musty basement. He unlatches a hidden door in a wooden panel, then curses loudly as he pulls it open.

“What is it?” Veronica steps forward, looking worried. She peers inside the tiny alcove. “Shit.”

There’s nothing there.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @marshmallowtasha. Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 30th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 16)

This is PART 16 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 16 is written by @kimikochan9

[Part 15]

Veronica is sorely tempted to leave the twit behind. After all, the pink zombie is hot on their trail - not Ruby’s - so really, they’re doing Logan’s annoying groupie a solid by drawing it away from her, right?

As if reading her thoughts, Logan flashes her a brief, chastising glance even as he begins twisting the SUV’s steering wheel. Tires squeal as the Mercedes makes an abrupt u-turn.

“Screw the crazy chick!” Dick’s voice is muffled, his face pressed against the side window. “I’m too young to die.”

“We can’t just leave her,” Logan growls, pressing down on the accelerator, eyes focused on the road.

Dick throws up his hands, slumping back into the seat. “The Navy’s ruined you.”

Veronica’s lips curve in a faint, involuntary smile. Secretly, a tiny part of her agrees with Dick, but mostly she admires her handsome boyfriend’s knight-in-shining-armor tendencies. Logan always had a chivalrous streak, but the Navy made him a bona fide American hero. It’s one of the things she loves most about him, and she feels a sudden, familiar surge of attraction.

“Logan is right,” she starts to say, but Mac’s scream drowns out her voice.

A hulking figure, still dripping pink goo, materializes in front of their moving vehicle. Cursing, Logan swerves to avoid him, but the man sprints forward with superhuman speed, trying to launch himself onto the hood of the SUV.

“Holy shit!” Dick yells.

Jaw set, Logan skillfully maneuvers past the drug-crazed man then floors the gas, sending them hurtling towards the winery and back to Ruby. Fumbling for her phone, Veronica shakily dials her dad’s number. As she fights to keep the panic from her voice, she can’t help noticing Logan’s hands are perfectly steady.

“Dad? I need your help.” Quickly, succinctly, she explains as much as she can before telling him to call Leo and bring backup to the Van Vliet Winery. “Tell him it’s about Wei and the drugs he was tracking.”

“I’m on my way. I …”

A beep indicates the signal is lost, cutting off Keith’s words, but Veronica knows what he was going to say. “I love you too, Dad,” she whispers. Resolute, she turns to Logan. “Okay, Lieutenant. What’s our plan?”

This elicits the barest hint of a smirk, because Veronica Mars doesn’t relinquish control easily, if ever. She spares him a brief, knowing smile. “Take the wheel when I get out. If anyone - and I mean anyone - comes for you, hit the gas and get as far away as you can.”

“Wait. What? I’m not leaving you. We’ll find Ruby together…”

“You’ll just slow me down. I can find her and get her back to the car faster without you. Worst case scenario - I can defend myself.”

He isn’t exactly barking orders, but his tone brooks no further argument, at least not from Veronica.

“Hey, shouldn’t I drive? It’s my car, after all,” Dick interjects.

“No!” A trio of voices shout in unison just as the car skids to a halt at the end of the service road.

Logan starts to jump out, but Veronica grips his arm. “Be careful,” she implores, her voice trembling as she fights back panic and fear.

He reaches out to stroke her cheek, the single, simple gesture conveying love and comfort. “Navy, remember? Been trained by the best,” he says, flashing his trademark, cocky grin.

And with that, he is gone.

Veronica slides into the empty driver’s seat and watches his retreating back as it disappears over the hill. The minutes pass slowly, every second excruciating for Veronica, as she nervously checks her phone for a signal while watching for any signs of Keith, Leo or more bad guys.

Suddenly, the silence is pierced by a single, resounding crack - the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot.

Veronica is out the door in an instant, screaming Logan’s name. Dimly, she registers Mac’s protests, but there’s no way in hell she’s going to leave Logan behind to face the enemy alone.

“Keep the car running,” she yells to her friend.

Veronica takes off in a sprint towards the hill. She glances over her shoulder when she hears the slam of a car door, and she is only mildly surprised to see Dick already close on her heels.

Their pace slows as they crest the hill, stooping low before hiding behind some brush to survey the area. The air is still smokey from the explosions, but eventually she is able to discern blurry figures through the haze.

Veronica’s heart clenches.

What’s left of Logan’s clothes are spattered with blood. He’s holding a sobbing Ruby, and Veronica is relieved to see the girl clutching her bleeding arm.

She starts towards them, but Dick stops her, covering her mouth with his hand. “Did you not see the gun?” he hisses in her ear.

Belatedly, she notices a third figure. At first, she can’t understand why she can’t make out the face, but quickly realizes he - or she - is wearing some sort of mask. The stance makes it clear he’s pointing a gun at Logan and Ruby.

“What now, Nancy Drew?” Dick asks.

Something jogs her memory, and she reaches into her jeans pocket for the strange, metal stick Logan retrieved from her hair only hours earlier.

A vague image of Jeff holding the cylinder to his lips flits through her mind.

“You gotta gun in there, too?”

“No,” she murmurs, fingering the stick. “But we do have a diversion.”

Moments later, she is peering through branches until she spots a flash coming from the brush behind the gunman. Heart pounding, she raises the slender tube to her lips and blows.

A high-pitched whistle rends the air, startling Logan’s captor just as Dick runs out of the brush, coming in low, and charges the unknown gunman. They both crash to the ground, and the gun clatters just out of reach.

Logan joins the fray, while Veronica scrambles for the gun. She picks it up and points it at the person in the mask. But their would-be assailant is already lying facedown on the ground, Logan astride him, wrenching his arm behind him.

“I told you to stay in the car,” Logan reproaches in a tone that sounds more like a Navy lieutenant than the love of her life.

“You’re welcome,” she says sweetly.

“I had it under control,” he growls back.

“Never mind that,” Dick cuts in, reaching for the mask. “Let’s see who this asshole is.”

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by... @jeanie205 . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 16th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 17)

This is PART 17 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 17 is written by @jeanie205.

[Part 16]

As soon as Dick rips off his mask, Veronica gasps as she takes in the identity of the man who not only shot Ruby Jetson but may well be one of the big bosses in this whole dirty business.

“Hey, I know you,” Dick says, staring at the gunman, his pretty face screwed up in concentration.  “Um…”

“Ah, Casablancas.  Clever as ever, I see,” the man snarls nastily, wincing as Logan pulls him roughly to his feet and twists his arms behind his back.

“We all know this asshole,” Logan says with barely-suppressed rage.  “He’s the creep that started the chain of events that ended up getting Carrie killed.”

Dick’s brow furrows as he searches for the right name, until finally his eyes light up with success.  “Hey, that’s…”

“Mr. Rooks,” Veronica says, the loathing clear on her face and in her tone as she steps forward into the man’s personal space.  “Given up on seducing high-school girls, have we?  Moved into the big leagues now?  Mad scientists? Apocalyptic bio-weapons?”

“Veronica Mars.”  Rooks fairly spits out her name.  “Don’t you have anything better to do than to screw up my life?  You and that bitch, Carrie Bishop.” He sneers. “I cheered when I heard she bought the farm.”

A high-pitched shriek suddenly shatters the air.

Ruby Jetson has heard that last bit and cannot allow it to pass unanswered.  Blood dripping down her arm from the gunshot wound, broken ankle wrapped untidily in Logan’s shirt, blonde wig askew, Ruby half-hitches, half-crawls along the ground with a speed that belies her injuries.  With a savage cry, she launches herself at Rooks, seeking to avenge the desecration of her idol’s name.

Unfortunately, from her position mere inches above the ground Ruby can only reach Rooks’s feet.  Boosted by righteous anger and adrenaline, however, and with near-miraculous precision, she uses one of her two remaining working appendages to sweep those feet out from under him.

Rooks goes down in a heap, the momentum carrying Logan with him, as Veronica leaps back just in time to avoid the fray.  Ruby herself lies panting, face down on the ground, only inches from the men’s tangled bodies.

“Logan!”

Veronica’s worried cry rouses Dick to action.

“Dude,” he says, crouching down and beginning to slap ineffectually at Logan’s face.

“Dick!  Knock it off!” Logan sputters, sitting up and swatting his friend’s hands away.  “I’m okay, Veronica,” he adds reassuringly, “but it looks like Rooks is out cold.”

“Oh, great.  Just when we might have been able to find out what the hell is going on.  I know Rooks lost his teaching license, but how did he get mixed up with the Van Vliets and Frankenstein’s monster?”

“It’s The Hulk, babe,” Logan reminds her. “Nothing to do with Dr. Frankenstein.”

Veronica gapes at him, incredulous.  “We’ve been dropped in the middle of this pile of pink poo and this is what you choose to twit me about?  My erroneous pop culture reference?”

Logan shrugs.  “I know how much you like to get things right.  And anyway, what makes you think Rooks was going to tell us anything?”

Veronica smirks.  “I was looking forward to figuring out ways to make him talk.”

Logan laughs.  “Of course you were.”

Dick shifts impatiently.  “Hey, I know you and Ronnie could spend all day flirting, that is when you’re not too busy doing other, hotter, things…”

“Dick!”

“…but right now, maybe you could spend just a little time figuring out what the hell we’re gonna do next!  We’ve got one guy out cold, and, uh, whatsername over there crawling around on the ground, and that big pink thing could come back any time.  And who knows how many other guys with guns are gonna start jumping out from behind some bush or something…”

Veronica hears the edge of hysteria in Dick’s voice and prays for a distraction.

“Dick!  I get the picture!” Logan says, and is about to say more when they all detect a sudden faint whine coming from the direction of the service road.

Three heads turn, and at first they see nothing but a cloud of dust in the distance.  A cloud which seems to be getting bigger and bigger until finally…

“No, no, no!” Dick cries, his hands clapping the top of his head in horror.  “Not the Merc!”

And indeed, Dick’s SUV roars into view, bumping towards them through the tall grass and around the long-dead grapevines.  Soon they’re able to see the look of mingled terror and relief on Mac’s face as she pulls to a stop beside them.

“Mackie!  What are you doing? You’ll ruin the transmission,” Dick moans.

“Oh, piffle,” Mac says, sliding out of the car.  “What do you think four-wheel drive is for?  Besides, I was beginning to think you were all dead.  What’s more important, Dick, the car or your friends?”

Dick’s gasp of protest draws a chuckle from Logan.

“You were just complaining we had no options, Dick, and now here’s Mac with the car giving us our best option.  So put a sock in it.”

Mac takes in the scene, finally noticing the man lying supine and unmoving on the ground.

“What’s he doing here?” she asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

Veronica chuckles.  “You know, I tried to convince myself that when Rooks left Neptune High he’d evaporate into thin air like he deserved, but I always knew that would be too much to hope for.  Instead, he seems to have got himself mixed up with this bunch of bio-terrorists, or whatever the hell they are.”

“You don’t know his connection?”  Mac squints at Veronica in surprise.

“Ruby knocked him out cold before we could question him.”

“Ruby did?”

“Long story, Mac.” Veronica smiles wryly.

Logan bends to check on Rooks then and winces involuntarily.

“Logan?” Veronica observes the tiny movement, and for the first time notes the deplorable condition of his naked back. Not only has his pale skin become ruddy from overlong exposure to the sun, but the sunburn is now overlaid with dozens of small cuts and scrapes from the fall.

“You need to get your shirt back,” she insists, glaring at Ruby, apparently forgetting that it was she who engineered Ruby’s injury in the first place.

But it makes no difference anyway.  Ruby hasn’t said a word since her assault on Rooks, but now she’s clutching at Logan’s shirt like it was the Shroud of Turin.  Veronica understands that the only way she’s getting that shirt away from Ruby is by pulling it from her cold, dead hands.  And while she’s tempted…

She sighs, turning to Dick in frustration.  “I can’t believe you don’t have an extra shirt in your car.  You, who might end up anywhere for the night.  I can’t believe you don’t have a damn suitcase full of shirts in that car!”

Dick nods and shrugs.  “Did.  Been a busy month.  Used ‘em all up.  Sorry, Ronnie.”

Veronica’s mind spins as she contemplates the various potential locations of Dick’s soiled shirts

“Wait!” Dick’s says suddenly and his eyes light up.  “I forgot about the emergency stash!”

Soon he’s pulled a flat box from beneath the back seat and is rifling through it, tossing items onto the ground as he goes.  Condom packs and bottle openers are flying, and Veronica thinks that the heavy rubber thing might actually be an inflatable mattress.  She shudders, not really wanting to know.

“Aha!”

Dick pulls from the very bottom of the box a piece of cloth that essentially looks like someone vomited up a paint store.  But when he unfolds it, it turns out to be the most garish shirt Veronica has ever seen.  There are fruits, and flowers, and…pink donkeys?…splashed all over it.  Just looking at it makes her dizzy.

“Where the hell did you get that?”  Mac asks, eyeing the shirt with distaste.

Dick thinks for a moment before his eyes begin to sparkle in remembrance.  “Yeah, well, there was this one night in Tijuana…”

“Never mind!” three voices command in perfect unison, while Mac slaps him upside the head.

“Hey!” Dick protests indignantly.  “You wanted a shirt, I found you a shirt.”

“Not a shirt I’m wearing,” Logan announces firmly.  “I mean, pink donkeys…”

“Oh, yes, you are,” Veronica rounds on him. “Better pink donkeys than a pink ass, which is what you’ll be if your skin gets any redder.”

Logan sighs and shrugs into the shirt.  Having learned which battles to pick.

They put Ruby into the car first, laying her across the third-row seat.  Dick does have a first-aid kit, so Veronica sticks a bandage - none too gently - over the point where the bullet grazed Ruby’s arm.

Rooks is propped up in the middle of the second seat, between Logan and Veronica.  Dick has declared that he’s taking back the wheel of his own damn car, so he and Mac are sitting in the front.

Veronica sighs with relief as the car begins to move across the field.  They are finally on their way back to civilization.

And then three things happen more or less at once.

Mac gasps.  “Oh, shit, I forgot!  What with Mr. Rooks and everything…”

“What, Mac, what?”  By now, Veronica is a touch impatient.  She’s had a tough couple of days.

“Your dad called back, Veronica.  There’s been some kind of terrorism threat in San Diego, so Leo can’t get here.  Keith’s still going to come, but he’ll be alone.”

Veronica nods.  Bad news, she thinks, but it could be worse.

And that’s when it does get worse.

Because there on the horizon, appearing as if out of nowhere, and standing squarely between them and the safety of civilization, stands the Pink Hulk.

Dick slams on the brakes.  “Now, what?”  he asks, his voice cracking.

Maybe it’s the jostling from the abrupt stop the does it, because it’s at that exact moment that Rooks moans, his head lolls against the seat, and his eyes flutter half-open as he looks straight at Veronica.

“Is he awake?” Logan asks, pulling the man’s arms behind him securely, thinking he’d give anything for a rope.

“Barely,” she shrugs, as Rooks moans again.

But then his mouth begins to move, and it looks to Veronica like he’s trying to say something.

“What?” she says impatiently.  As she bends towards him, Veronica feels like she may have reached the edge of her very last nerve. “The pink guy is out there, Rooks, and I don’t have time for this crap.  So what’s so important?”

Rooks only manages to say a few words before he faints again.

Veronica wishes she hadn’t heard them.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @heavenli24. Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 23rd.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 15)

This is PART 15 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 15 is written by @beezlebobble!

[Part 14]

Mac covers her mouth and points a shaking finger, which Veronica's eyes track to what emerges behind them. The uneven ground is dark and smoking in a zigzag pattern behind the figure.

It is ostensibly a man, his clothes torn and covered in that viscous dark red goo that had leaked from the coffin in the barn, and it has turned his skin a bright glowing pink. His dark hair is in slimy disarray, his pupils dilated so that nothing but the black shows. He is shoeless and his toes curl into the soil on which he stands. His head rears back as his eyes roll back and his pupils dance like pinwheels. He bellows like a herd of wild, mutant elephants, his lobster colored clawlike hands grappling with the air around him.

Everyone stands stock still for a brief moment. Then Logan, High King-o-Snark, lets out a bemused, "Heh, would you look at that? We're being chased by the Pink Hulk."

All Veronica can get out is a gasping croak, "Run!"

Everybody, including Dick, who although he isn't that bright, has a masterful sense of self-preservation, turns tail and dashes to the parked SUV. Fortunately, Mac and Dick left the doors open in their hurried exit from the vehicle so there isn't that Horror Movie moment where everyone struggles with the door locks while the monster viciously picks them off one by one.  Dick notes as much when they get inside and slam every door shut.

"Thanks, Dick.  I think we all love it when you fill us in on what gruesome events should be happening."

"Look Ronnie, you know you and Logan are the final couple, right?  If the doors hadn't been open, me and Mackie here would be Pink Hulk chowder." Mac just looks at him and wearily shakes her head.

As they look out the windows, they can see the creature turning it's head slowly and sniffing the air. It’s almost as if he can't see them and is trying to locate them by scent.

Logan yells, "Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

As Logan backs up the vehicle, Veronica turns to Dick, "Give me your phone, Dick. I need to call the SPD, Leo and my dad. Oh and probably  911 and Animal Control. Or maybe the Zoo? Whoever has the tranquilizer dart guns..."

"Ok, Ronnie,  but I have to warn you to be careful of the case, it's Louis Vuitton and I just got it so please don't scratch--Hey!"

Veronica yanks the phone out of his hands and smacks the side of Dick's head for good measure. She tries to dial out as Logan speeds down the road but still no signal. "Goddamit, is this like the Balboa Triangle or something?" she complains.

Mac has been maintaining  a visual on the creature and looks out behind them and cries, "Holy Shit, he's chasing us! Faster Logan, faster! Oh my god, he's gaining on us! How is he gaining on us?! What the hell? Shit! Shit!"

"Shit Logan, can't you go any fucking faster?" Veronica yells. She is sorely tempted to grab the wheel but she knows Logan is an ace defensive driver.

"Guys, I'm going 60 already! Despite being hopped up on pink Hulk juice, he's human. So, he can't maintain that pace regardless of what he's been soaking in." Leave it to Logan to keep a calm head. After everything he's been through, it seems like nothing will faze him now.

Mac and Dick continue to keep an eye on their pursuer and when they manage to lose him after a couple of minutes, everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief.

"So, Wei said that drug gave its users super-human strength...What do you think happens if you take a bath in it? Better question, who was that? And how long was he in it? And I'm going to kill Jeff when I get my hands on him." Veronica huffs and sits back in her seat crossing her arms.

"Not if I get to him first, honey." Logan looks over at the tiny, bristling figure beside him and grins, "I feel so lucky that I get to live this interesting life with you."

That was enough to get a small smile out of her. She reaches for her bag and starts to forage around, "Shit! Fuck! Shit!"  Logan turns to her as she begins to panic.

"What?!"

"Shit Logan, I must have dropped the fucking key when we made a run for it."

"Relax Tinkerbell, you gave it to me, remember? The key and the other piece are in my back pocket." She leans back in relief and then reaches over to punch him in the arm. "Ow, what's that for?"

"Just because, Mr. Competent Smartypants. Let's find a store or gas station or something so we can make some calls. Hopefully, Wei and Jeff are safe."

Dick adds from the back, "And maybe a shirt for Mr. Competent Sexypants! Hey! Ow!" Veronica's arm isn't long enough to reach to the back so Mac first punches then pinches Dick for her.

As they head down the road, Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and slaps his forehead, "Fuck, Ruby...!"

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @kimikochan9 . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 9th.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around...(Part 14)

This is PART 14 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 14 is written by @darling-in-my-fashion!

[Part 13]

The ground beneath them shakes as the barn rattles from the impact. The rickety structure seems to sway and groan as the sound of wood splitting rips through the air.

Jeff screams and turns in the opposite direction, sliding around on the detritus of the wooded area with his mostly clean loafers as he attempts to make a quick escape.

“No you don’t, damn it,” Wei yells as he grabs Jeff by the collar. “You know more than you're letting on, and if you don't tell us, you're going to get a lot of people—”

Something slamming against the barn door cuts off Wei’s speech. Two loud thuds rings out through the wooded area and Jeff sends a well-placed kick to Wei’s shin to break his hold before scampering off screaming.

“Goddamnit,” Wei mutters before he takes off at a fast clip after Jeff.

“I think he’s got the right idea,” Logan murmurs as he grabs Veronica’ hand and starts to pull her away from the barn.

“But, Logan, we—”

“Should absolutely run and not be those people. Think about how proud we’ll make Wallace when he realizes we didn't become stereotypical white people for a change.”

Veronica huffs but reluctantly follows, doing her best to look behind her to see who or what comes out of that rattling barn, but Logan is moving too fast for more than a glimpse as they make their way back towards the house.

Once she turns her attention forward she takes a moment to admire the cut and power of Logan’s back. His lats and delts so strong and chiseled as he moves with speed and precision across the rough underbrush.

Logan starts to slow down as the house comes into view through the trees and Veronica is grateful for the much more sedate pace. “We can't go back to the house, but we need to get somewhere with good cell reception. I'm hoping Dick contacted Mac by now.”

“We both know the odds of your stoner friend doing anything useful are slim to none, honey.”

The air is thick with the cloying smell of burning fuel as they draw closer to the house and smoke continues to rise from Logan’s charred car in the distance.

Veronica can no longer hear Jeff’s screams and only catches a glimpse of Wei before he vanishes in pursuit of Jeff. Her knees and shins ache from the too brisk run and constant strain of the day turned to evening.

A flash of headlights and the fast screech of tires draws Veronica’s attention from her aching body and towards the SUV barreling too fast up the driveway.

The vehicle makes an abrupt stop halfway down the lane and the passenger door opens before it even comes to a full stop.

“Mac!” Veronica yells as the tiny brunette tumbles from the car. Veronica happily takes the lead and pulls Logan behind her happy to see one of their problems solved.

“I figured following the billowing smoke would lead us to you,” Mac snarks, but relief is clear on her face when Veronica draws closer.

“Ronnie is always at the center of shit blowing up in this town. Though it's generally a little less on the nose,” Dick drawls as he rounds his truck with his usual negligent ease. “Dude, what happened to your shirt?”

Mac does a double-take at Logan before she looks back to Veronica. “Did we interrupt a round of ‘we survived’ sex?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Logan graciously gave up his shirt as a tourniquet for Ruby, who seems to have conveniently vanished.”

“I’m not sure I've got extra shirts, but I'm sure I have extra swim trunks with me,” Dick replies.

Veronica sighs. “What's he supposed to do with them, Dick? Wear them like a cape?”

“You should be nicer, Ronnie. We be the calvary. I don't see any of your other friends around to save your ass. Again, I might add.”

“You know what—”

“Not the time,” Logan interrupts. “I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look Dick. We can use the time to figure out what on earth is happening and what we’re going to do next.” Logan leans down and brushes his lips across her cheek before following Dick to the back of his truck.

“Right,” Veronica’s eyes track his stellar figure for a few moments before snapping back to Mac. “Did you find anything on...Mac?”

Mac’s ashen visage gives Veronica pause as her friend points to the line of trees she and Logan just emerged from.

“What the fuck is that?”

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @beezlebobble . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 2nd.