[WARNING/REMINDER: This is an ACRAPHOBE Imprint. It ain't warmfuzzies.]

Blue Light Productions presents:

______  _   _   _   ____  _     ____  _____  ___  _     _____ _____
|    |  |   |  / \  |   | |     |   |   |   |___| |     |____ \___
|BLiP|  | _ | |   | |   | |     |   |   |   |   | |     |         \
|    |  | | | |   | |---  |     |   |   ~   ~   ~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
| #2 |  | | | |   | |\    |     |   |        (An ACROPHOBE Imprint)
|    |  |/ \|  \ /  |  \  |     |   |
~~~~~~  ~   ~   ~   ~   ~ ~~~~~ ~~~~        FEATURING: Squeaky Clean
                                                 and Captain Cleanup

       [Cover is split diagonally. Top left shows Squeaky sitting by
        a hospital bed, with Captain Cleanup lying on it hooked up to
        life-support. Bottom right shows Maurice standing is a field
        of daffodils, looking at Eugene's gravestone.]


                  "A Clean Mind In A Clean Body"


Well, it was definitely a party, Squeaky Clean decided, but not like any 
party he'd ever been to. People ate, people talked, people danced. But, 
no-one seemed to enjoy it. They looked more as if it was a duty rather 
than something they should enjoy.
        <The Phantom Walker pushed the button.>
        Squeaky looked for his uncle and mentor, Captain Cleanup. 
Currently, Cleanup was chatting to someone dressed as a wolf, complete 
with long snout and whiskers. At least he looked happy enough.
        <Other than a door opening, nothing else happened.>
        A shiver ran down Squeaky's spine. It was familiar to him. It was 
the same sort of shiver he got whenever there was cleaning to do. He 
carefully studied his surroundings, trying to find some cause for this 
        <That was until someone's head flew from their shoulders.>
        *THERE!* Somewhere, through the throng of people in _that_ 
direction was the cause of whatever mess was happening. He craned his 
neck, looking for the disturbance, but wasn't tall enough to see over 
        <A trail of heads flew across the room, leading in one direction.>
        His eyes bulged when he finally saw what was going on. Heads were 
flying, literally. He could see detached heads moving up through the air 
and descending in a slow arc. For some reason, he was quite detached from 
it all, and was able to tell, from backtracking where the heads were, just 
where the whatever it was was.
        <At the end of the trail was Captain Cleanup and Squeaky Clean.>
        Now other people starting noticing as well. Their first reaction 
was screaming, their next was running. Mindless figures forced their ways 
through statues, people frozen in shock, sending them tumbling down beneath 
their feet.
        A path cleared between Squeaky Clean and the whatever. A wide 
path. A totally clear path. No matter how hard he stared, Squeaky was 
unable to see anything that could be causing this panic.
        A gash appeared in the back of one of the patrons, and he fell 
forward, gasping his last. Nothing had ripped the man's back open, but it 
had parted nevertheless.
        Time slowed.
        Out of the corner of his eye, Squeaky could see Captain Cleanup 
turning towards him, his mouth opening to ask what was happening. Squeaky 
wanted to tell him to "Get back!" and "Keep away!", but knew that this 
time syrup would hinder Cleanup's understanding.
        Another guest was killed, closer to Squeaky. He still couldn't 
see whoever was doing this, but something else was happening.
        Although he couldn't see the being, he could... 'feel' him. Some 
sense of his was kicking in, allowing him to tell where the source of the 
mess was, allowing him to strike back at this source, disable it, and 
clear the smear of its presence away.
        Concentrating, he formed a mop in his hand, and then he swung.
        Slowly, oh so slowly, the mop arced towards where the presence was.

Over by the side of the room, two people, a man and a woman, stood calmly 
while everyone else around them ran like decapitated chickens.
        "Did you really need all these people here?" asked the man. "It 
causes quite a mess."
        "I had to find out how good the Fribith was, didn't I?" replied 
the woman.
        "Maybe, but you gave the heroes help. You cause a mess, they can 
clean it. It's their speciality."
        "You mean, they are going to win?"
        "...Yes," the man admitted.
        The woman sighed. "Then, I'd better help them. Keep them on my 
good side, as it were."
        The man shrugged. "You don't need them, but if you particularly 
want to..." The man frowned. "_We_ aren't in any danger, are we?"
        "Of course not," the woman answered, setting off into the crowd 
towards the heroes. "It's programmed to only attack humans."

The mop swung... swung... swung... and... connected. It bounced off of a 
patch of seemingly empty air. Squeaky now knew that this was where his 
adversary lay.
        Something grabbed him by the shoulder, and he was pulled around 
to see Captain Cleanup looking at him, talking. Squeaky was unable to 
make the words out, and shook Cleanup's hand from his shoulder, and 
turned back to face his opponent.
        However, his senses were now telling him that the Fribith (for 
that is what it was called) had moved. Swinging slowly, Squeaky sought out 
the beast, 'feeling' for him. It had obviously circled around him, trying 
to get behind, where it couldn't be hit.
        As Squeaky turned, Cleanup moved around to face him. This meant, 
when the Fribith attacked, it was Cleanup who was in the way of its weapons.
        Cleanup screamed as red-hot pain lanced into his left leg, behind 
his knee. Something had struck hard into it, something sharp. He could 
almost feel each tendon being cut.
        He collapsed backwards, and felt something pushing him to one 
side, but he was unable to see what.
        Squeaky roared in anger when Cleanup fell, and struck out wildly 
with his mop. He connected with some part of the beast, and pushed down, 
hoping to break something.
        It turned out to be the Fribith's arm, as the sharp end of it cut 
into Cleanup's now exposed stomach. Squeaky looked on helplessly, unable 
to stop, and he pushed down with the mop, pushing the arm further into 
        Finally, he reacted, pulling away, trying to force the arm away, 
trying to wish the damage away, damage that he had created. The Fribith's 
arm came out, but only after cutting away more of Cleanup's abdomen.
        Squeaky's mind snapped with hatred, and he poured blow after blow 
onto the Fribith's body, knocking the Fribith back, disabling it.
        Eventually, it slumped to the floor, more damaged by the mop than 
any visible sign could show. Squeaky kept pounding away, flailing at the 
beast with all his might, working his anger out on it.
        A hand grabbed at his arm, holding it, forcing Squeaky to come to 
a stop. He stood there, panting, holding the mop above his head, his arm 
caught in an unmoving grip, staring at the spot which held the beast that 
had caused his friend so much pain.
        He managed to turn his head, and saw who was holding him. It was 
the man who had brought him here, the man who had brought Cleanup here, 
the man who had brought Cleanup here so he could be butchered.
        With renewed anger, he fought to release him arm so he could 
bring the mop down on a new target, that being the head of the man who 
was known as the Phantom Walker. However much he tried, he could not 
release his arm.
        He felt his arm shaking as time returned to normal. He could now 
make out that Walker was saying something. "Get a grip, Eugene. Maurice 
needs you. Get! A! Grip!"
        Maurice! Captain Cleanup! He spun, his arm now free, to look at 
the figure lying on the floor.
        Captain Cleanup lay in an ever expanding pool of blood.
        Squeaky dropped down beside him. "No," he whimpered. He noticed 
someone else by Cleanup's side.
        Looking up he saw what he would later realise to be the most 
beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now, he merely saw someone who might be 
able to help.
        "Can you get help? Now?" The woman nodded, and moved away.
        He looked over Cleanup's body. Most of most his stomach was now 
lying outside of his body. Squeaky wondered if he could use his powers to 
clean up Cleanup, but didn't dare try anything.
        The woman returned. "They be here in a minute."
        "He might not have a minute," Squeaky cried.
        Cleanup groaned, and Squeaky realised that he was still 
conscious. Squeaky winced as he thought of the pain Cleanup would be in.
        "Do you have anything to put him out?" he asked.
        The woman thought, then reached into a pocket in her dress. She 
withdrew something tiny, and hit it against the floor. Rapidly, a 
baseball bat grew in her hand. "We could use this."
        "That's not even funny," said Squeaky, flatly.
        "We don't have much choice."
        "Are you still trying that?" the Phantom Walker asked the woman. 
"Whatever happened to your Inflatable-Glow-In-The-Dark-Heroes anyway?"
        The woman frowned briefly. "We couldn't get the mentality right. 
The only one we created went insane and thought it was a villain. It 
turned up at the LNHQ, and was destroyed. Actually, it did eventually 
become a hero, but I don't have much hope for the products."
        "Whatever," said Squeaky. "We're still not going to hit Captain 
Cleanup unconscious."
        The woman shrugged. "I could arrange to have him run over by a 
horde of psychotic green kiwis."
        At that moment, an ambulance arrived outside, and orderlies rushed 
in with a stretcher.


From then on, events became rather blurred for Squeaky. After a ride in 
the ambulance, Cleanup's body was rushed through hospital corridors. 
Squeaky was stopped before he could run into the operating theatre, and 
he hopped about impatiently, one of the nurses trying to calm him down.
        "Sir, we need a few details. If you could help us..."
        Finally, Squeaky turned away long enough to fill out forms, but 
soon returned to waiting outside the operating theatre doors. He fell 
asleep in one of the chairs, and one of the nurses covered him with a 



Squeaky woke up to someone shaking his arm. "Wha?"
        "Sir? Sir? You've been asleep for twelve hours. Sir?"
        Squeaky woke up fully with a jerk. "Maurice? What's happened to 
        "He was transfered to one of the wards on the seventh floor. I'm 
afraid that he's slipped into a coma."
        "Where is he? What room?"
        "Room 751."

Squeaky reached the door of room 751, but hesitated. Dredging up his 
resolve, he pushed open the door and entered.
        Maurice Beyke, stripped of his usual Captain Cleanup uniform, lay 
in a pristine bed, wires and tubes connected to his face and arms. He was 
hooked up to machines, which not only monitored his condition, but also 
helped keep him stable. Squeaky was unable to see his stomach due to the 
sheet over him, and didn't remove it to see.
        He sat weakly by Maurice's side, and tears started running down 
his face.


Eugene Clean sat sedately at the side of Maurice Beyke. He had found out 
that Maurice has slipped into a coma, with no idea of when, or even if, 
he would recover.
        His knee was completely ruined. He would never be able to walk
with it again. He would need a crutch, or at least a cane, to move around.
        Eugene had considered calling the LNH, and letting them know what 
had happened, but had decided against it. This was his problem, and there 
was nothing they would be able to do, anyway.
        Hearing someone behind him, he looked around. Who he saw caused 
him to spring to his feet.
        Standing at the end of the bed, holding a bunch of brightly 
coloured flowers in a vase, was the Phantom Walker.
        "What do you want?" Eugene hissed.
        The Walker sighed. "I came here to deliver these flowers. They're 
from my boss."
        "You mean to say you don't even have the common decency to bring 
them from yourself." Eugene sighed. "Just put them over there and leave." 
He pointed to a cabinet by Maurice's bed.
        The Walker did so, but didn't leave.
        Eugene waited, but the Walker showed no signs of moving.
        "Well, what are you waiting for? Another chance to try and kill 
        "I didn't have any choice," Walker said. "I never do."
        "Everyone has a choice," said Eugene.
        "Or so they delude themselves," replied Walker.
        Eugene turned away. "Just go."
        The Walker stood there for a few more moments, then turned and 
walked away.
        Eugene stayed where he was, facing the window, and didn't see a 
spore float from the flowers and land on Maurice's face.


Maurice awoke in a field of daffodils. He was lying down, and the 
daffodils limited his vision to straight up. Above him was a clear blue 
sky, the kind he liked to remember.
        Maurice sat up. Actually, this was sort of field he liked to 
remember as well. It was the kind of field that grew at the back of his 
home when he was a kid.
        Maurice stood and gazed around him. In fact, he could swear that 
this _was_ the field of his past. He turned around slowly.
        Yes, yes. This was the place. He was home!
        He worked out in which direction his house must lay, then started 
to run.

When it came into view, Maurice's heart raced. It was his home, the house 
where he grew up. He ran to the front door, and opened it.
        Smells hit him first. The warm smells of the kitchen, the musty 
smell of the coal, and the tobacco smell from where his father sat in his 
den and smoked.
        Maurice entered slowly. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, 
removing a loaf of bread from the oven. His stomach rumbled and Maurice 
felt the harsh pangs on hunger. When had he eaten last?
        Maurice stopped and frowned. What had he been doing before he 
came here anyway? He concentrated, but had to give up. Right now, it 
didn't really matter to him anyway.
        "Is that you dear?" he heard his mother ask.
        "Yes, mother," he replied.
        "Make sure you wipe your feet on the mat first. You always forget 
to wipe your feet." Guiltily, Maurice dragged his feet across the mat, 
wiping the grass from his boots. He looked down and suddenly noticed what 
he was wearing.
        A thick red shirt covered him down past his hips, now probably
stained with the green grass. He smiled. This was how it always was. His 
pants were a durable corduroy. It occurred to him that he hadn't been 
wearing this recently, but something more... white. He couldn't remember 
what that was about, either, and gave the thought up.
        "If you're done, come in and have some bread."
        The thought of the soft, hot loaf set Maurice's mouth watering.
        He quickly entered the kitchen. Before him, standing at the 
table in the middle of the kitchen, was an older woman, her hair showing 
just a hint of white. The light glinted in her eyes, and humour twitched 
at her lips. This was Maurice's mother. This was the reason he had came 
        He sat down and gratefully accepted a piece of the freshly baked 



Eugene carefully studied Maurice's peaceful face. He noticed that it was 
starting to shine in patches, but he wasn't sure what was causing it. The 
doctor's weren't mentioning it, so he supposed that it meant nothing 
disastrous. (He failed to notice that the flowers by the head of the 
bed had lost a lot of their brightness.)
        He thought of the party again, going over events in his mind. He 
knew logically that it was an accident that had placed Maurice between 
the Fribith and him, but there was no way his emotional side would let 
him see it that way.
        _He_ had pushed Maurice away. _He_ had pushed Maurice into the 
path of the Fribith. _He_ had pushed Maurice further onto the Fribith's 
arm. _He_ had forced the arm downwards, gutting Maurice. _He_ had nearly 
killed Maurice.
        Eugene turned away, sickened with himself.
        It was now that he noticed the nurse in the doorway. She was on 
the small size, with blonde hair tied into a bun. He thought he might 
have seen her when they had come in, but he didn't remember much of that.
        He remained staring at the nurse, not really seeing her, just... 
remembering... when he realised that she had been looking directly at 
him for the past few minutes, all without saying anything.
        Eugene shook himself out of his revie. "Is there something that 
I can do for you?" he asked.
        Eugene was surprised to see the nurse blush. Why was she 
blushing? He was the one who had been ignoring her.
        "I.. I saw you come in the other day." She came in, and moved to 
the end of the bed, somewhat uncertain. She glanced at the still form of 
Maurice. "Um, I'm sure he'll be all right."
        The conversation lagged, and Eugene could tell that there was 
something else the nurse wanted to say. Despite the silence, Eugene 
continued to wait.
        "Um," the nurse crept around the bed, coming nearer to 
Eugene. He wasn't sure why, but he began to feel uncomfortable. "There 
is something else, something I've been wanting to tell you ever since I 
saw you." She cast her eyes down to her shoes. "I... I couldn't really 
believe it, you actually being here. I've seen you on television, doing 
various superhero things." This wasn't totally true. It was just, as he 
was usually the one cleaning up afterwards, he was the one around when 
the news vans showed up.
        "Um-m, I..." The nurse rushed for Eugene. Surprised, he wasn't 
able to stop her throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. 
"I love you. Ever since I saw you. And when you finally came here. I can 
tell you. Everything I feel. Oh, I love you so much. I know you must 
hate me for saying this, but I'm glad your friend was hurt. It means we 
can now be tother. Oh Squeaky Clean, I love you."
        Eugene, always able to take care of whatever situation turned 
up, merely blinked.


Maurice lay in his bed and relaxed. He had just woken up in the light of 
a brand new day, and he felt wonderful. Whatever the day would bring, 
Maurice knew he could handle it, because... well, just because he was 
home. Nothing was ever a problem here. With his ever loving parents, he 
knew that he could face the day.
        He slowly got up and dressed. As he went downstairs he could 
hear Mother in the kitchen again, this time making breakfast for him. 
Probably porridge. Sometimes he was given something special, but usually 
it was porridge.
        As Maurice sat at the table, Mother turned to him. "Your father
would like you to do some work in the field out back. The daffodils need
tending to." 
        "Of course, Mother." Finishing off his porridge, he left the 
table, washed up and headed out back.
        The same field that he had woken up in yesterday still had its 
sweet promises today. Instead of tending daffodils, Maurice wanted to 
jump and play, feeling joyous and alive here in this place.
        He ran through the daffodils, feeling them, whip at his heels. 
Nothing could hold him back, and he ran till he collapsed on the ground. 
He lay there panting, enjoying the sensations around him.
        Something caught his eye, and he raised his head to look at some 
rock jutting out of the field. Something seemed unnatural about it. It 
was too well formed, to properly placed, to be anything natural.
        He got to his feet and slowly walked over to investigate. As he 
neared, shapes clicked in his brain and Maurice realised what he was 
looking at.
        It was the back of a gravestone.
        Maurice stopped, feeling bewildered and scared. This wasn't 
here. This was never here. This was his field, his field of peace and 
happiness. Nothing died here. Nothing lay buried here.
        Slowly, he crept around to see the front of the headstone. 
There was writing on it, freshly carved. He read it slowly, not taking 
its meaning.
        Then Maurice remembered. He remembered the name. He remembered 
sensations. And he knew something was wrong.
        It read:
                "R. I. P.
               Eugene Clean"


Eugene slowly broke the embrace. He stared straight into her eyes. He 
could see tears glistening. She really thought she loved him. He knew 
that it was just that. She _thought_ she loved him. It was the glamour 
and air of mystic that surrounded the entire LNH that developed into 
situations like this.
        Actually, off the top of his head, he couldn't remember any 
other LNHer having situations like this.
        "What's your name?" asked Eugene gently.
        "Now, Janice, this may seem harsh, but you don't really love 
me." Squeaky held up his hand before Janice could continue. "You've just 
seen me on TV and built up fantasies around me. The same thing happens 
to a lot of media stars."
        "No," Janice cried. "It's not true. What I feel for you is 
        "No it isn't. You know it isn't, you just don't want to believe 
it," Eugene turned away from Janice, feeling like a heel, but forcing 
himself to look at Maurice. "I'll ignore that remark about Maurice. 
Leave now, and we might still become-"
        "Don't say it," interrupted Janice. "We will be more than 
friends, whatever you think." Eugene heard her footsteps quickly leaving 
the room.
        Eugene sighed, and speculated what Maurice would have to say about 
this. Right now, he'd be happy to hear Maurice say anything. He wondered 
what Maurice was thinking about.


Maurice stumbled backwards, and fell over. He sat on the ground, hard. 
How could this be? Eugene, little Eugene? Dead?
        Another thought hit him. Who was Eugene? Why did he feel his 
death so strongly?
        Maurice thought hard about this. Somehow he knew a Eugene Clean, 
someone who had meant a lot to him. But why didn't he remember who he 
        Maurice inspected the grave site, but was unable to see where the 
ground had been dug up. Perhaps this was just a marker, something raised 
to remind him of someone special.
        Something else occurred to him, which might explain why he had 
been thinking so oddly the previous day. Perhaps something had happened 
to him, some part of him had died, and he had left, had gone home, and 
buried those memories. Some part of his life symbolised by Eugene Clean.
        Obviously, Eugene had died, and Maurice had given up whatever he 
was doing, had suppressed his memories, and retreated home. He tried to 
puzzle out what he had been doing. Something dangerous certainly, and 
something involving... white clothing?
        Maurice shook his head. He couldn't figure it out. He decided to 
leave it for now and tend to his chores. The daffodils still needed 
tending to.
        Maurice turned his back on the gravestone, and went to work.



Eugene wandered around his cousin's apartment. The hospital had finally 
ordered him home to rest. He had gone reluctantly, and only after 
extracting promises that they'd ring him if anything, _anything_, 
        Luckily, he hadn't met Janice again before leaving. He 
considered ringing the LNH and asking some of his friends for advice. 
However, they'd also ask how things were going, and he knew he wouldn't 
be able to lie to them. He didn't want anyone else to become worried 
about this. This was family.
        And he was all the close family Maurice had around.
        He finally got undressed and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling,
        Eventually he lapsed into unconsciousness.


"You're very quiet today, Maurice. Is anything the matter?"
        "No, mother, everything's all right."
        "Are you sure?"
        "Mother... how long was I away?"
        "What do you mean? You were only out in the field yesterday for 
a few hours."
        "I mean before that. How long was I away from home with Eugene 
        "I don't understand. Who's this Eugene Clean. Is he a new friend 
of yours?"
        "I think so. I met him out in the field yesterday."
        "That's nice, dear."
        "May I go now, mother?"
        "But you haven't finished breakfast yet... Maurice?... Maurice!?"


Most of the spores had left the flowers now. Only a small handful 
remained. Even now, one was leaving the plant and floating through the 
air. Gently, it landed on Maurice's face, joining the others there.
        Watching over this carefully was the Phantom Walker.



Eugene ducked into a side corridor. He had spotted Janice and had 
decided to get out of the area quickly. He walked along the corridor and 
soon found himself lost in the maze of the hospital.
        At last he managed to find room 751. Inside, Maurice Beyke still 
lay, still in the position of rest that Eugene had seen him in before he 
had left.
        Maurice's face was now noticeably shiny. Eugene fetched a 
washcloth and wiped at Maurice's face without any effect whatsoever.
        Looking around, Eugene saw that the flowers the Phantom Walker 
had brought were now faded and wilted. He picked them up and walked over 
to the bin to throw them out.
        As he did so, the last spore fell from the flowers and floated 
through the air. It came to rest on Maurice's face, filling in the last 

Out in his field of daffodils, Maurice sat and watched Eugene's 
gravestone. He had cleared a little area of daffodils around it, but had 
let the rest of the immediate area go.
        He shivered as he looked at the grave, sure that it meant more 
than he could grasp. He shivered again, but realised that this time it 
was from cold.
        Maurice looked up and saw dark, menacing clouds crowding out the 
sun. The wind picked up and Maurice no longer felt like staying outside. 
He got up and started towards the warmth of home when the headstone 

Eugene turned back from the bin in time to see Maurice's whole body 
twitch violently. He gasped when Maurice's back arched and he quickly 
crossed the room, reaching for the buzzer.
        A hand grasped his arm, and, even before he turned, Eugene knew 
who he would see.
        The Phantom Walker was holding him back, stopping him from 
helping Maurice. Again.
        Eugene drew up his strength and pushed. The Walker stumbled 
backwards, letting Eugene go. Instead of pushing the buzzer, Eugene 
turned to face the Phantom Walker.
        "Why? Why now? Why this?"
        "Do not interfere. You cannot understand the forces that make me 
do this. Events must happen, and this event certainly will."
        "I will help him this time, and I will not suffer you in my way!"
        "You can try."

Maurice picked himself up. Where the headstone used to lie there was now 
a large steaming crater. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew 
he wanted no part of it.
        He ran for home and so wasn't knocked over when the ground behind
him also exploded. 

Maurice's body spasmed again, and Eugene flinched. He should be getting 
help, not rising against the Phantom Walker!
        "I will summon help myself."
        This stunned Eugene. "I'll do it." He turned away again.
        "No. I must. Later."
        "I'll do it now then."
        Enraged, Eugene raced towards the Walker, intent on knocking out 
him of the way. He quickly discovered problems as the Walker stepped out 
of the way, and grasped Eugene.
        With a quick turn-and-thrust manoeuvre, the Walker threw Eugene 
out of the 7th-floor window.

As Maurice neared, he saw his father running as well. he had been 
working in another field. His father waited for Maurice to catch up, 
then bundled both of them inside.
        Once in the hallway, Father bolted the door closed.
        "What's happening?" asked Mother.
        "Get below," Father ordered. "Maurice, get your mother into the 
        Taking his mother's hand, Maurice lead her to a door, then down 
a small flight of stairs. At the bottom was a small room enclosed by 
earth. Maurice lit up a match from a packet that lay on a small table, 
then fired up a lantern.
        The pale glow revealed his mother's worried face and his 
father's large form as he came down the stairs.
        "Looks like a storm's coming. Bad one."
        Maurice knew that this was going to be no ordinary storm.

The Phantom Walker watched as Maurice's body thrashed about. Calmly he 
reached out and pressed the buzzer. Stepping back into shadows, he 
wondered where the nearest phone was.
        A nurse rushed in and immediately saw what was going on. He 
turned around and shouted into the corridor. "Emergency! Get a doctor 
here immediately! Bring an electroshock unit!"

Above them, the house creaked as forces pushed it about.
        Mother clung to Father, and Maurice was struck with how 
disproportionate the situation was. Disproportionate with what, he 
wasn't certain.
        The roof of the cellar, floorboards of the hallway above, bulged 
and broke. Splinters rained down on them and Maurice sheltered his face 
under his arms.
        He sensed that the end was coming.

Beeep beeep beeep
        "Open his shirt. He's going into cardiac arrest. Get those pads 
        Beeep beep bep bep bep
        Bep bep       bep bep bep

The roof of the house collapsed inwards, crashing down through the 
second floor and hitting the first.

        Bep bep     bep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

The ceiling of the cellar smashed downwards, crushing its occupants 
beneath it.

        Eeeeeeee        eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

The dust settled on the bodies.



In a phone booth, elsewhere in the hospital, the Phantom Walker picked up 
the receiver and dialled.
        "Come and get him."



Eugene raged at himself. He was lying on a hospital bed with his leg in a
cast, suspended above him. After falling 7 stories he had been lucky
enough to land in a manure truck that was passing below. His leg had
snapped, but the doctors had been able to set it properly. It would take a
while, but he would be able to walk normally again. 
        They had told him of Maurice's death.
        He told them that the Phantom Walker was responsible, but no-one 
had seen anyone looking like the description Eugene gave. Not today, and 
not yesterday.
        Eugene raged. How could he let this happen? First, he nearly 
kills Maurice, then he gets thrown out a window leaving the Walker to do 
whatever he wants.
        Some might say he didn't have a lot of choice about this last 
part, but not Eugene. Not having the Walker here to blame, he prosecuted 
        Eugene heard someone enter, looked up and groaned. This he 
definitely did not need.
        "Hello, Squeaky," said Janice. "I arranged to have this shift so 
we can be together. I know you are distraught about your friend's death, 
but I'm sure I can help you get over it."
        She sat down on Eugene's bed and lay her head on his chest. 
Eugene resisted the urge to take out his anger on her and, say, strangle 
her to death. He gazed fixedly at the ceiling.
        "Janice," he began. "There's something we need to discuss-"
        "Come on, son, don't worry too much," a new voice interrupted. A 
voice Eugene knew all too well. "We'll soon have you out of here."
        Eugene looked and gasped in shock.
        Standing at the bottom of the bed was Maurice Beyke, aka Captain 


Next Issue: Explanations? I doubt it.



Squeaky Clean and Captain Cleanup are Public Domain, although I'll 
probably be banned from using them ever again. :)

The Phantom Walker and The Queen Bee belong to me.

Janice belongs to Squeaky Clean. :)

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