Love, Lies and Old Allies (part 3)

Tuesday. Lunch time rolled on. The Upper School Dining Hall exploded into its usual lunch time commotion. Year Sevens mingled amongst the Year Elevens, bustling and shoving, pushing their way down the queue until they reached the veritable cornucopia of exciting food stuffs and- oh. Instead of baskets of crisps and trays of muffins, there was instead crime scene tape crisscrossing the shelves and large signs showing Mrs Monty carrying a machine gun under the angelic glow of Jamie Oliver.

An audible sigh arose from the kitchen and groups of students walked away, preferring to starve than eat healthily. As they walked, the Big D bumped into a couple of them, patting them on the shoulders and winking in all the right places.

Far away from this commotion, Steven, Sophie, Freya and Chris were sat eating their packed lunches. Steven had resorted to making crisps sandwiches at home so that his unhealthy food was hidden, whilst Sophie had printed out a fake wrapper for her KitKat that made it look like a nutribar. Freya and Chris just ate healthily.

“So, let me get this right,” Steven said, halfway through a Ham and Prawn Cocktail sandwich, “you were so worried for your safety you gave them fake identities?”

“Yes.” Freya said.

“But the identities you gave them were our identities?”

“Yes.” 

“So, you gave the scary, dangerous people our identities?”

Freya nodded. “I see where you’re going with this but, I just want to say, it’s totally unfounded.”

“I would have said I was Ellie Wright.” Sophie shrugged. “So, anyway, what were you saying about the Camel God?”

“They reckon he could give boons to people.” Chris said.

“He? Why’s he a he? Can’t they be gender fluid, androgynous or even just ambiguous?”

“Or, you know, female?” Steven added.

“I’m just going off what they said.” Chris shrugged. “Point is, they reckoned the God could give boons.” 

“Boons.” Steven grinned. “Now that’s a Dungeons and Dragons word if ever I heard one.”

“What sort of boons?" Sophie asked.

“All sorts. Herculean strength, like Captain Jaffa Cake has, reality changing control, like the Summoner, Lucky Cat and Tempus have.” Freya explained.

“And she said improved intelligence.” Chris added. “Carpenter and Jordan must have had improved intelligence to build all their gadgets.”

“So we’re saying that we got our powers from an Egyptian God rather than a radioactive explosion?” Sophie asked.

Steven squealed. “I love our lives.”

“There’s just something odd." Chris said. “Apart from the Egyptian God and superheroic boons, obviously. Doctor Palmer, the lady Doctor Palmer, she said that the Camel God was banished.”

“By who?”

“We didn’t manage to find out, so I googled it and there was nothing. Nothing on the entire internet. Like the Camel God doesn’t exist.”

“We need to get into the museum.” Sophie said. “Shouldn’t be too hard, should it?”

“Not to a group of people with our gifts.” Chris said. "But it’d be easier still if we had Ali with us.”

Steven frowned. “Where is Ali?”

“Over in the hall with the Head Girl and the Big D.” Sophie sighed. “I can’t believe she’d abandon us like this.”

“I can kind of understand it.” Freya said, risking angered glances from her friends. “What?” She pointed to Steven and Sophie. “You two have each other, me and Chris train together and she’s, as much as I love her, she’s kind of the odd one out. Or, at least she would have a right to feel that way.”

“But I miss her.” Steven said. “We spent like twelve years together!”

“How much of that time did you spend arguing?” Sophie asked.

“Very good point.” Steven said and promptly shut up.

Mr Jensen wandered past, using Mr Marley’s catchphrase as his own. “Litter, litter, litter! Any more litter?”

Chris reached out to where the Behaviour Manager was holding two rubbish bags, one black, the other red. He looked at the apple core Chris was holding and shook the black bag. “This one here please, Christopher.”

Chris placed the apple core in it. “What’s in the other?”

“Unhealthy food.” Mr Jensen replied. “Not that any Jaffa Cakes would end up there, hey Sophie?”

Sophie sighed. “I’ll get detention if I bring you biscuits, sir!”

“Not from me, you wouldn’t.” He grinned and shook the red bag. “If it wasn’t for the promise of cake for the people who collect the most unhealthy food, I think I’d be eating most of the stuff in here myself.”

“Confiscate much, sir?” Steven added, nodding towards the bag.

“Oh yeah!” Mr Jensen said and opened the bag, tilting it to show them. Inside the bag, there were piles of forbidden biscuits, packets of crisps, chocolate bars- even a full jar of midget gems. “Loads of the stuff. I don’t know where the kids get it from; we’ve never sold any of this.”

“Probably bring it in from home.” Freya said.

“They don’t.” Mr Jensen said. “Myself and Mr Deterich were searching bags this morning on the way in. This Year Seven came in, empty bag except for his RE book. I caught him at the beginning of lunch with four bottles of Coca Cola, the two litre ones and all, as well as a massive tin of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles. I said to him, I said, ‘Cameron! What do you think you’re doing?’”

“And what did he say?” 

“Nothing.” Mr Jensen sighed. “His mouth was full of Pringles.”

A Year Eight wandered past, one hand deep in a packet of Doritos. Mr Jensen rolled his eyes and raced after them, his two bags swinging as he moved.

“I'm having to hide my Jaffa Cakes.” Chris sighed, returning his lunch box to his bag. “They’re in the bottom pocket of my bag and I keep accidentally crushing them. Do you think they’ll work the same if they’re broken?”

“You’ll end up with a torn cloak.” Steven laughed and then sighed. “I'm sorry but Ali’s really bothering me. Do you reckon I could go talk to her?”

Freya shook her head. “You’re best off letting her come to you. Then at least you know she wants to talk.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Steven sighed. “Still, if I see her later, can I invite her on our mission?”

“Yeah.” Freya nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Good.” Chris said. “Now, let’s work out how we can break into that museum.”

In the hall, meanwhile, Ali was collecting a plastic knife and fork from a tray by the stage. She stared up, towards the curtains where Mr Moose had emerged. That had been so strange, but perhaps not as strange as the sight she was seeing now. A pair of Year Sevens marched across the back of the stage and disappeared down the steps to the large room underneath. She’d never been down but Chris and Steven had taken some paper from their tutor group to the incinerator down there a few years back and they’d told her all about it. Apparently the room was cavernous and exceptionally cold, except for the ragged heat of the incinerator. It had, however, been the description of the immense layers of dust down there which had really put her off visiting; Asthma was worse than any super villain.

Having collected her cutlery, she began to make her way over towards the table where Charlotte, Julie and Desmond were sat. To the side of Desmond’s chair, Maximilian was positioned with their bags in his hands. 

“What do you mean he’s taken the keys?” Charlotte hissed at Desmond.

“He saw me around the back, asked me what I was doing. I just told him that I was locking up for a caretaker. He said that was fine but that he’d need the keys. What was I meant to do?”

“You should have hidden the bloody keys! Or been more careful!”

“More careful? That’s what got us into this bloody mess.” Desmond sighed. “If you'd let me trust the Sevens with the keys, I wouldn’t have been there.”

“No, a Year Seven would have been and they’re even more useless than you.”

“But much smaller so he probably wouldn’t have noticed!” 

“I hate Mr King so much.” Charlotte sighed. “Always getting in the way.”

“The man is bad but his namesake is good.” Julie said. “Sovereignty is a very important aspect of our society; it would be improper to lose it. Plus, all democracies are fundamentally flawed.”

“I’m sorry Mein Kampf,” Desmond interjected, “I didn’t realise we were in the middle of a bloody political broadcast. What are we going to do, Charlotte?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

At that moment, she caught a glimpse of Ali approaching and smiled, “Oh! Hi Ali! Want to come sit down? There’s a seat here, right next to me.”

Ali smiled and sunk into the chair. “Thanks, Charlotte. Everything okay, Big D?”

“Yes.” He said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just don’t look your usual chipper self.”

“She’s right.” Julie said. “You look as if you’ve just learnt the EU force energy saving light bulbs on us.”

“It’s nothing.” He said. “Just Additional Maths getting me down.”

“Oh, that reminds me, what did Mr Moose want with you yesterday?” Ali asked.

“What’s with the interrogation, Ali? This is the Assembly Hall, not Guantanamo Bay.” He sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, leaning into his chair. To his side, Max stood, still, unmoving.

“Ignore him.” Charlotte said. “So, still alright to come round tonight?”

“Yeah, I'd love to if that’d be okay.” Ali smiled.

“It’d be just perfect.” Charlotte replied. Her phone buzzed in her blazer so she pulled it out and opened Twitter. Scrolling through her Direct Messages, all but four of the options one sided conversations with Gigi Hadid and Zayn Malik, as well as the entire cast of Love Island, and reached the box at the top. Dessy Gil, @Th3_B1g_D. She clicked on the unread message and scanned it. She turned to Desmond, just across the table from her, and gave a covert nod.

He was right. Ali was the perfect solution to their little problem.

Love, Lies and Old Allies (part 2)

“Hey! Charlotte! Big D!”

Ali considered using her powers to catch up but decided not to. The last thing she wanted was for  them to think she was any weirder than she obviously was.

The Big D, or Desmond as his parents called him, was an average height but incredibly thin boy with hair that definitely wasn’t ginger. Stood to this side was Charlotte Campbell, the school’s illustrious Head Girl. She turned around at Ali’s call, her recently re-dyed hair glittering in the circular sky lights carved into the roof. She seemed to sparkle as she smiled at Ali, her eyes glowed, almost radiant. She looked as if she should be headlining the Big Weekend, not walking down M-Block corridor.

“Are you alright, Ali?” Charlotte called, her teeth glinting in the light. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” She said. “I was just thinking, we’re in the same lesson next so could I walk with you?”

Charlotte smiled. “I’d love that, yeah.”

They headed out of M-Block and began to cross the quad. A small Year Seven with incredible hair wandered up behind them and tapped Desmond on the shoulder. “Yes, Maximilian?” He said.

Another Year Seven sprouted from behind Maximilian, bending to allow Max onto his shoulders. The second Year Seven then stood straight, delivering Maximilian to the Big D’s ear height. He whispered something and the Big D nodded, turning back to the others. “I’ll join you in a second.”

Ali frowned as he wandered off, Year Sevens conglomerating around him. “Where’s he going?”

“Oh, you know Desmond.” Charlotte said. “Just his prefect duties; dealing with Year Sevens.”

Ali nodded, before realisation suddenly caused a frown to furrow her brow. “How come you’re not doing your prefect duties? Going to see Mr Andrews, I mean.”

“Oh. Well, that’s the thing about being Head Girl, isn’t it? You don’t have actually to do anything. You just delegate. Plus, why would I want to spend my Monday morning in a hospital? Smelling of wee and old people.”

“Not anymore.” Julie said, wandering over to join them. “They’ll get an extra three hundred and fifty million pounds a week now so I’m sure the wards will glimmer.”

“You’ll have to excuse Julie here.” Charlotte said. “She’s a big Brexiteer.”

“Even before the referendum.” Julie said.

“Really?” Ali raised an eyebrow.

Julie nodded. “Ever since my mum decided to leave this wealthy business man she was dating.”

“Work out well for her?”

“No.” Julie replied. “We now live in destitute poverty but it was the principle of the matter. Anyway, I need to be going to my Business lesson so I’ll catch you later. Bye guys.”

She wandered off and disappeared into L-Block. Charlotte sighed. “Alone at last.”

Ali nodded. “I just wanted to say thanks for having me around yesterday. It was so much fun.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Charlotte said. “I just apologise for the mess that is my bedroom.”

“You have a lovely bedroom. 10 out of 10, would bedroom again.” Ali blushed a little. “That was embarrassing.”

“No, it was geeky.” Charlotte smiled. “Geeky and cute. I just wish I could find as many positive words for my bedroom. The acoustics are awful!”

“Are they?”

“Maybe not for talking but for recording they are. I had to record a song in the bathroom the other day, as a result!”

“Oh, is that the one you put on Twitter? You sent it to all those models. And all those studios. And all those singers. And you put it in both group chats. And started a Twitter Moment of the replies you got.”

“Yes, well, if I don’t believe in myself, who will? Just a humble girl trying to make her dreams come true.” Charlotte replied, shifting the handle of her designer handbag up her arm. “Anyway, what about you? What do you want to do when you grow up?”

“Oh, I’m thinking of being a forensic scientist.” Ali replied. “Hey, I could post pictures of corpses I’m investigating and send them to different police departments!”

“How… delightful.” Charlotte said.

The Big D wandered over, devoid of Year Sevens now, as they hurried along the corridor to their Maths classroom. “Sorry about that. Duty calls.”

Ali looked in his direction. He looked a little sweaty, as if he’d had to do some heavy lifting, and his uniform was a bit dusty. Didn’t the cleaners at Gilliam High do anything all day? Far behind him, a few Year Sevens were munching on crisps, despite Mrs Monty’s instructions.

“Ah, what time do you call this?” Mr Fernando asked, stood in the door of their Maths classroom. Ever since Mr Jordan had become a rampaging maniac, Mr Fernando had taught them instead. He was currently wearing glasses, as he did all days but Wednesday when he wore contact lenses. This, in his own words, was because he was a cheap skate and he was going to get his money’s worth of something he had to wear on a Wednesday night for football.

“Sorry sir.” Charlotte smiled, her Head Girl badge glinting as they wandered past into the classroom. They all took their seats and watched as he closed the door and stepped over to the board. 

“Yet again, Mr Jordan hasn’t set you any work to do.” Mr Fernando sighed.

Ellie Wright’s hand shot up. “That’s because he’s in a high security prison.”

“Yes, thank you Ellie.” Mr Fernando replied. “Now-“

“Oh my god, sir!” Ellie cried, her eyes lighting with rage. “Why are you pecking? All I did was solve your problem and you’re already having a go at me. Oh my. I’m not doing any work now.”

She leant back in her chair and pulled her iPad out of her bag.

Mr Fernando did nothing and instead said, “Everybody revise Loci. It’s definitely going to come up on the exam.”

The students sighed and pulled their textbooks out. As they did this, Charlotte turned to Ali and said, “Hey, I meant to mention it earlier but forgot. We’re all thinking of going around to my house again tomorrow night. Want to join us?”

“Yeah!” Ali grinned. “I’d love to.”

“You two!” Mr Fernando called. “You were late and now you’re talking in my lessons. Detention.”

The door creaked open. The sound of size seventeen feet patted against the floor. The doorframe cracked as a bald head broke through it. Mr Moose had entered the room.

“That was a harsh judgement, don’t you think, er, er,” the Big Man paused as he struggled to recall the teacher’s name.

“Mr Fern-“

Mr Moose raised a solitary finger in an effort to silence him. He then strode across the room, picked the lanyard from Mr Fernando’s chest, nearly strangling him in the process, and read the name that it display there. “Ah. Fernando.”

He returned to where he’d been stood, in the ruins of the door frame.

“That was a harsh judgement, don’t you think, Mr Fernando?” Mr Moose said. “A very harsh judgement.”

“Well, they have blatantly broken the rules twi-“

“Don’t talk when a teacher is talking, Fernando.” Mr Moose said. “Wait your turn. There’s a good boy. Now, let’s see. You’re quite clearly a football fan, Mr Fernando. Don’t worry; I am not a deductive genius but instead noticed the Arsenal stickers placed childishly across the front wall. Here is my offer to you: I will give you a season ticket if you drop your harsh punishment of these students.”

“Well, sir, those aren’t my stick-“

“May I reminder you that I’m the Executing Principal, sorry, Executive Principal of this school and that I will throw in your continued employment alongside the season ticket. It is an offer you cannot refuse, Mr Fernando.”

Mr Fernando nodded and bowed his head. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Correct answer.” Mr Moose smiled. Ali frowned. He hadn’t blinked once in the entire time he’d been in the room.

He now turned to the Big D. “Desmond, I require your presence. There are… matters to attend to.”

“Yes, sir.” Desmond said, standing and saluting.

“No need to salute. I am a teacher, a leader, an educational evangelist, a lover and an inspirer but I am not a soldier. Outside now.”

Desmond hurried out of the room. Moose went to close the door when he caught glimpse of Ellie on her iPad. “And you, Miss Female Student? What are you doing?”

“Aww, sir, why you peck-“ She looked into his eyes and silenced.

Mr Moose reached out his hand. “Give me your tablet computer.”

She handed it over.

He looked it up and down. “Do you want to hear a quote from Steve Jobs? Here it is: ‘Hey, Steve, I like your computer.’ You’re probably thinking, but why is Steve Jobs talking to himself? Surely that’s the first sign of madness? The answer, of course, is that he was talking to Steve Wozniak.” Mr Moose wagged his finger at the class. “Never assume madness. There may be some logic to it. That’s Shakespeare, that is.”

He turned on his heel and began to march out of the room, taking the iPad with him. The door swung shut, cutting off his musings on some sort of badge system to make identification easier.

“I don’t think he blinked once.” Charlotte said. “He could kill a Weeping Angel.” 

“You watch Doctor Who?” Ali replied.

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone.” Charlotte smiled.

Ali gave a contented sigh. Funny, good looking and a geek. And, all the better, Charlotte was a girl to boot. Ali gave another contented sigh, her eyes dreamy.

“Oh, she’s awful! She’s just absolutely terrible. God. I hate her. How did she even get the job? Should’ve been Freya.” The Head Boy rolled his eyes. “God. She’s just useless. Do you know how many Prefect meetings there have been since the beginning of the year?”

“We’re the only people who go to them, Gordon.” Sophie replied. “There’s one every other week.”

“Exactly.” He said. “Know how many- you’ve already answered question. Point is, she never bloody turns up! She’s in all the photos though. Takes all the perks but none of the downsides.”

“What are the downsides?” Steven frowned.

“Having to work with Mr Deterich.” The Head Boy laughed. “Not that I’m complaining about her never turning up, though. I mean, she came that time last month, you know when Mrs Monty asked to attend, and now thanks to Charlotte’s wonderful healthy eating concerns, we’ve got the Munch Policy!”

The minibus cycled over a pot hole, bouncing and sending Steven’s head smashing into the ceiling. He cursed under his breath.

“You need to shrink, you silly mush.” Sophie laughed, reaching up to rub his head.

“No, the bloody manufacturer’s just need to design things with average sized people in mind.”

“Steven, you’re six foot six.” Sophie said. “There are dwarves with more claim to ‘average sized people’ than you.”

Gordon, who was leaning over the seat in front of them, laughed. “You two make such a cute couple.”

Before Steven could even open his mouth, Sophie said, “Oh, no, we’re not going out. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah.” Steven said, resisting the temptation to sigh. “Just friends.”

“Ah.” Gordon said, catching the slight disheartening of Steven’s face. “My apologies.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Sophie said, smiling. “Lots of people make that mistake, actually.”

“Yeah.” Steven sighed. “They do.”

“So!” Gordon cried, moving on very quickly. “Mr Andrews, hey? It’s so sad.”

“It is,” Sophie nodded, “He’s my favourite Physics teacher. Forget that. He’s my favourite teacher.”

“Mine too.” Gordon said. “He just managed to edge between severe and funny. Plus, he was really good at explaining stuff.”

“I remember I didn’t understand the Doppler Effect and then he came over to explain it to me and I got it in one.” Steven nodded. “He was fantastic. Hey, Gordon, I don’t suppose he ever did the thing in your class, did he?”

“What thing?” 

“You know, the old, arms out, like a crucifix.”

“Oh!” Gordon cried, nodding. “Yeah, he did! In our population, we call it the Andy Christ.”

Steven laughed. “Oh, whoever came up with that is a complete genius.”

Gordon beamed. “Well, I don’t want to brag but I’m afraid it was me.”

“You know, I think I like Gordon more and more every time we talk to him.” Steven said.

“Thanks Steven.” Gordon smiled. “If you ever want to join me on the roof, you’re more than welcome.”

“I bet that’s what he says to all the boys.” Sophie said.

Gordon blushed momentarily. “It gets so lonely up there but Mr King insists. Reckons the old Gilliam Flashlight needs to be fixed one day, and seeing that I said I’d worked in an Electrician’s Shop on my application, he thinks I’m the one to finally do it.”

“Did you work in an Electrician’s Shop?” Steven frowned.

“No, but my dad owns one so he said he’d lie for me if required.” Gordon grinned.

“That’s a bright idea.” Sophie laughed, and the other two groaned at her pun. 

As that happened, the minibus pulled to a stop in the car park of the hospital. Whilst Mr Jensen, who was driving it, grumbled about the price of the tickets, the Prefects clambered off and headed up the steps to the ward where Mr Andrews was still in a coma.

Elsewhere, at the Museum of Ancient History, Mrs Lynne had a group of students gathered around her. “You’ve got free reign of the museum for the next two hours. Then, we’ll meet in the cafe for lunch before our Spartan Workshop in the afternoon. Have a nice time everyone.”

Freya and Steven headed off up a set of butterfly stairs, past a statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s head a loft. They wandered down a few corridors, past glass cases full of rusted swords and shields, and then turned right to a pair of large, open, wooden doors.

Stepping through, they found themselves in a huge hall. Various artefacts, including a book with a rather crude illustration of a camel on its open page, were displayed in glass cases around the room and that very illustration was reproduced on large banners hanging from the ceilings.

The centre piece of the room, and their attention, however was a large sandstone obelisk emerging from some form of sacrificial crypt, carvings of camels and various hieroglyphs drawn into the various surfaces throughout.

“Wow.” Freya whispered. “That looks like it’s straight out of the second season of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures.”

“I’m going to pretend to get that reference.” Chris replied.

A woman with bobbed grey hair wandered over to them, a notebook in her hand that had so many slips of paper and Post It Notes emerging from it that it could have been one of Freya’s textbooks.  “Hello there. Can I help-“

She paused. Chris frowned. “Are you okay, miss?”

“You’re… you’re from Gilliam High.”

Freya nodded. “School trip. Me and Steven here are doing a project on the Camel God. Could you help us out?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head and seeming to pull herself together, “I just… my son went to Gilliam High when he was younger. He recently returned actually but, well, he didn’t come back out.”

Chris frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“He was a Physicist. A very good Physicist, actually. He was doing a lecture and an experiment went wrong. He died in the blast.”

“Your son was Doctor Richard Palmer?” Chris said.

“Yes.” She said, frowning. “Did you know him?”

“I was in the lecture. He was a very good, well, lecturer.”

“Thank you, er, what did you say your name was?”

“He’s Steven, I’m Sophie.” Freya said, kicking Chris as he began to frown at her.

“Thank you Steven.” She smiled. “Come, let’s be quick. My husband should be around somewhere and, well, he’s a lot more vocal in his emotion. How can I help you?”

“We just wanted to know about the Camel God, Mrs Palmer.”

“Doctor.” She said. “Doctor Palmer.”

“Like your son?”

She nodded. “And my husband. A family of Doctor Palmers. Makes the post very exciting.”

Chris smiled. “So, what can you tell us about the Camel God?”

“What can’t I? Myself and my husband are this particular branch of Egyptology’s leading experts.” She said. “We led the archaeological dig of the vast majority of the artefacts in this room, including the construct you see straight in front of you.”

“What is it?”

“We’re not entirely certain but from the hieroglyphs we can decipher, we seem to think it was some sort of worship spot, used to celebrate the Camel God in return for all sorts of boons.”

“Boons?” Chris frowned.

“Boons.” She said. “As in gifts. Miraculous endowments of certain abilities or powers. A key factor of the Camel God’s mythology is that he endows those around him with abilities far beyond their limited comprehension.”

“What kind of abilities?” Freya asked.

“Well, all sorts. There are a set of scrolls in the far corner, known as the Clifton Set, that document the vast majority of the Camel God legendarium. In them, they feature almost demi-godlike beings  given boons varying from Herculean strength to reality changing control to even such minimal abilities as improved intelligence. It makes fun reading. The Egyptians certainly had imaginations.”

“They did.” Freya nodded. “I was really interested in them when I was little but I’ve never heard of the Camel God before.”

“Well, that’ll be because of his banishment.”

“Banishment?” Chris frowned.

“Yes. As Norse Mythology has its Ragnarök and Christianity its Apocalypse, the legend of the Camel God concludes with banishment to- oh, dear Gods, here comes my husband. You better scoot along, children. From his face, I can tell he’s seen some of your classmates. Feel free to contact me if you have any more questions.”

With that, she rushed over to where an elderly man, with startling white hair, was beginning to blubber. Freya rolled her eyes at Chris and began to walk.

“Why did you give her the wrong names?” He whispered to her.

“Because there are too many coincidences in the air for any of this to be innocent.” Freya replied, suspiciously glancing around. “Come on, let’s go find Mrs Lynne.”

At the hospital, Gordon and a prefect with big hair and bigger teeth emerged from the ward and nodded Steven and Sophie in. They wandered into the room and over to the only occupied bed, holding Mr Andrews. His face was covered with the beginnings of a coarse stubble and his eyes were permanently closed. He wore a hospital gown and lay there, asleep, unwaking. There were no flowers or cards on the table at the end of his bed, except for one, as signed by the Prefect team.

Sophie and Steven sunk into their chairs, ready to begin the ten minute shift that Mr King had asked them to perform. Sophie reached out a hand and squeezed Mr Andrews, lying still on the bed with one finger being held by a pulse monitor.

After a few minutes, she began to sob. Steven decided that he didn’t quite know what to do. Normally, he was the one crying at nothing in particular. Frowning, he reached out and put his arm around her. “Hey, it’s okay.” He said, worried that he sounded like he was petting a hedgehog. “Just let it out. Let it out, Sophie.”

“He’s my favourite teacher.” She said, turning to him. Not entirely sure what he was doing, he reached an arm out and put it around her shoulder, pulling her in for a hug. “Don’t you worry, you silly thing.” He whispered. “He’ll be alright soon.”

“I hope so.” She said. “I love him so much.”

Steven hugged her, staring at the comatose teacher. Lucky sod.

x

Love, Lies And Old Allies

Previously: Chris, Steven, Sophie, Freya and Ali were once five students attending Gilliam High School. But when an ex-student named Richard Palmer gave a lecture on radiation, they were all caught up in a terrible radioactive blast. Palmer died and Physics Teacher Mr Andrews rendered comatose. Chris and friends, however, found themselves imbued with incredible powers which were quickly put to the test by the onslaught of villainous teachers.

Last time, Ali was kidnapped by the dimension travelling Dreamweaver. Whilst the others went to rescue her, she became alienated from the group and, on returning to the Earth, couldn’t help but feel like a spare part. We rejoin the adventure a short while after Ali began to play with her new friends.

Sunday Morning. Not the time to be in school. The Summoner was pretty sure there were laws against it, or at least that there should be. There was a bed, a very warm bed, that he could have been lying in at that exact moment. Instead, here he was, stood in a Science classroom with three of his friends and an angry minator. He sighed. One day he’d get a lie in.

The callout had been simple enough. Every fast food restaurant on the coast had recently been robbed, not of money or nice things like chips but of beef and milk. Every report had suggested that a five foot tall woman with the head of a bull had been behind the robberies. 

“Definitely not a bull.” Lucky Cat said. Years of Minecraft had led to her understanding the difference between various animals. “I say more a cow? Or a buffalo?”

“Beefalo!” The creature roared, spit flinging . “I am the Beefalo! And I will take back the terrible products you have stolen from my species.”

Captain Jaffa Cake looked at Tempus. “As we practised, yeah?” 

Tempus nodded. “As we practised.”

Running towards him, he lifted a Jaffa Cake shield. She jumped onto it and he gave the shield a shove, sending her slicing through the air and towards the Beefalo. The creature screamed but she reached out her hands and slowed time. Its scream became deeper, slower. The spittle flinging from its jaws seemed to pause in mid air, suspended by her temporal powers.

She increased her focus, concentrating on herself and the wall behind the Beefalo. Snapping the creature back to normal speed, she sped time concerning herself to be quicker. Then she slowed the wall behind the Beefalo right down. The effect: She seemed to hit it a lot quicker than she in reality did. Regardless, the momentum carried and the wall exploded open, delivering the two of them into the room on the other side.

The Summoner walked over to Lucky Cat and patted her shoulder. “My condolences.”

Lucky Cat frowned. “For what?”

“I think we just saw Physics getting killed.” 

Following Tempus through the hole they’d just torn in the wall, they emerged in one of the new classrooms built after the radioactive explosion a few months earlier. The walls of the room were white, the tables and stools pristine. Every surface was streamlined and complex in its simplicity. It was like walking into an Apple shop.

Captain Jaffa Cake wandered over to the Beefalo and knelt, his orange cape pooling around him as he did. “She’s unconscious, I think. Summoner, can you create some cuffs?”

The Summoner reached out a hand. A pair of cufflinks appeared in his palm. He sighed and reached out the other hand. There was a momentary glowing. The cufflinks seemed to burst, before the energy trickled into his other hand and turned into a pair of handcuffs. “There we go.”

"Thank you.” Captain Jaffa Cake said, taking the cuffs and locking the Beefalo’s hands together.

At that exact moment, the door to the room burst open. Reiteration Man, their gallant Computer Science teacher, burst through and into the room. “Ah! You got her, good work!”

He waved his hand and the wall they’d accidentally destroyed began to reform, bricks sliding into place, plaster reforming, smart board unshattering. Once it was done, he turned to the Beefalo. “Honestly, the prison is going to run out of space if we continue being as successful as we are.”

“Let's just face it, guys,” Steven said, “We are too good.”

They laughed as Sophie increased the probability of the Caretakers being lazy. As a result, when they’d last been delivering bags of paper to be incinerated to the incinerator next to S-Block, they’d left one of the large trolleys just outside the classroom. She wheeled it in and they hauled the Beefalo onto it, ready to take her down to the Cairns Cave to be secured before the police arrived.

Mr Phillips looked over the group of them and frowned. “Could Ali not make it?”

Pulling off her 3D glasses, Sophie shook her head. “Busy playing with a Ouija Board with the Head Girl.”

“She’s going up in the world.” Mr Phillips said. “The Head Girl is actually popular.”

“Are you trying to say we’re not, sir?” Steven asked.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t you say the other day you still wear Doctor Who pyjamas?”

Steven nodded. “No, you’ve got a good point there. We’re not popular.”

“I don’t like the Head Girl.” Chris said. “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t she is in any way qualified for her role.”

“I’m glad you said,” Sophie said, “because if I did, it’d sound like I was jealous I hadn’t got that role.”

“Hahaha. You’re the Prefect for Sitting In The Library At Break Times.” Steven teased, prodding her.

“Says the Prefect for Occasionally Writing Articles For The School Magazine That No One Will Ever Bloody Read.” Sophie replied.

“Ahem. I’m just going to stay quiet.” Freya, the Deputy Head Girl, said, a mischievous grin on her face.

“With conversations as exciting as this,” Chris said, “no wonder Ali isn’t hanging out with us today.”

Children of the atom, students of Computer Science, geeks misunderstood and stereotyped by the teachers and students they have sworn to protect, these are the strangest heroes of all!

Sunday creaked on and cooled into the dark tidings of Monday. Chris found himself out of his Captain Jaffa Cake suit and instead in the maroon of his school uniform, wandering down All Saints’ Road towards the front of school. He headed up the small path, passing through the green gates and taking a left down the main corridor towards the Assembly Hall. As he did, he caught a glimpse of his hair in the window. Finally, his experimentations with hair spray had worked! His quiff was near perfect, just as wonderful and dynamic as it was when he’d eaten a Jaffa Cake. 

His eyes glimpsed the smart watch he’d received for Christmas and he suddenly realised he was risking being late to Assembly. He raced forward, jogging up the corridor towards the Assembly Hall. As he did, his eyes glimpsed the black arrows covering the walls and frowned. The last time he checked, even the worst elements of the school community weren’t so stupid they needed to know how to walk up and down a corridor.

“Hey! Chris!” He turned and Freya caught up with him. “Glad I caught you; better than having to go into the hall late and alone.”

“Are you alright?” He asked. “Not like you to run late.”

“Not like you either.” She frowned for a second, realising she was having to look up at him. “Have you grown?”

“I hope not.” He replied. “My mum made me go clothes shopping on Saturday. I really don't want to go again.”

“How many Christmas jumpers did you buy?” She laughed.

They approached the doors of the Assembly Hall and found about fifty students stood outside. Mr Jensen was stood at their head, guarding the doors to the Assembly Hall. “Sir?” Chris frowned. “What’s going on? Why are we all outside?”

“Head’s instructions.” Mr Jensen shrugged. “Says he wants everyone who is even the smallest bit late kept outside.”

“Oh great.” Freya whispered. “We’re late. This is singlehandedly the worst thing to have ever happened to me.”

“And we were fighting a Beefalo yesterday.” Chris muttered.

Inside the Assembly Hall, Steven and Sophie were sat next to each other about half way into the left column of the sea of blue chairs. Ali was far off on the other side, sat next to the Head Girl and Desmond Gilliam, grandson of the School’s Founder. Steven had been ready to rant about her choice to sit with them over him when Mr Deterich, the Head of their Year Group, stepped out into the space in front of the stage. 

“Matilda! Matilda!” Mr Marley cried, gaining silence. “We are ready now!”

“Good morning Year Eleven.” Mr Deterich said, running a hand through the constantly receding, greyening, thinning ginger hair that partially covered his head. “I hope you all had a relaxing weekend away from the stresses of school work. Before we begin, I just want to say that attendance to Saturday School was shockingly low this weekend. I really expected more of you to come in. Of course, interventions are put on as an optional course for you so none of you are expected to join us, however, next weekend I expect half the year group to be taking part.”

Sophie turned to Steven and raised her eyebrows.

“Now,” Mr Deterich said, “for the Assembly proper, I now want to hand over to Mrs Monty to talk about the ‘Munch Initiative.’”

“No, no!” Cried Mr Marley. “I need to talk about something very shortly first.”

He wandered over to the space Mr Deterich was stood in, just between the two columns of chairs, in front of the main stage. It was Sophie’s belief that teachers stood there rather than on the stage because they wanted to be ‘down with the kids.’ The effect was that for the shorter members of the audience, the talkers were invisible.

“After the failure of last Friday’s Attendance Scheme, I have decided to introduce a new one to replace it.” Mr Marley said. “It’s very simple. In Tutor tomorrow morning, you will be presented with a report on your attendance outlining your Attendance Target. For example, Joe Bloggs gets his report and it tells him that he has a target of missing only three sessions this term because he had good attendance last term. However, Freddy Noname had awful attendance last term so his target may be to miss thirteen sessions this term. As long as he only misses his thirteen sessions and no more, he will be rewarded with a free raffle ticket. At the end of the year, once every student in the school has three raffle tickets, will pull out a lucky winner and see if anyone manages to win an iPod Shuffle.”

An audible ‘ooh’ went up. Sophie turned to Steven and frowned. “Does that mean they’re giving us licenses to skive?”

In the audience somewhere, Freddy Noname was blushing at having his awful attendance exposed to the school.

“Thank you Mr Marley.” Mr Deterich said. “When I was your age, I skived all the time and as a result, I got a well paid and morally rewarding job as a middle manager on the forefront of defining our next generation, as well as still being able to attend both Sixth Form and University. The moral of the story: Don’t skive, kids. Right, now for Mrs Monty.”

A short woman wandered up onto the stage. She was the Assistant Principal of the School but, besides wearing a lanyard that announced as much, it was hard to say what exactly that entitled her to do.

Getting to the top of the stage, she removed a remote control from her pocket and pressed a button. From the roof, the screen began to descend. It took two minutes to unravel the whole way and, as it got to the end of those two minutes, began to unravel a little too far and pool on the floor. She flustered at the remote control, just managing to get it to rise back up into place.

For a second, the projected image was of the words ‘HDMI1 Undetected’ and then there was a flash and a picture of a dead child appeared on the screen. His head had evidently been bashed in by a large blunt instrument and he was lying on the side of a road in a pool of his own blood.

“Can anyone tell me what the cause of death for this child was?” She asked.

No reply, until a new kid on the front row raised a hand. “Was it being hit by a car?”

"Aha!" Mrs Monty cried. “That’s what you’d assume but no! Let’s see another picture.”

She clicked a button on the remote and the next slide showed an alternate angle of the kid, revealing a hand previously hidden. He was clutching a packet of crisps.

“The correct answer,” Mrs Monty said, “is obesity. This child was killed by obesity. Do you know how many children die of obesity each year in the UK?”

Rhetorical question. No answers.

“The answer is some and I find that disgusting. Do you know how much sugar there is in a bottle of Tomato Ketchup? 2800 grams! If you were to take that in granules of sugar, you’d need four Ketchup bottles to contain it all. That’s a lot of sugar. That’s diabetes in a squeezable retainer. Now, as I’m sure you all know, the Lord and Saviour Jamie Oliver has proposed a plan to avoid this.”

She clicked the remote and the next slide appeared, depicting Jamie Oliver in glowing, heavenly light. Angelic wings folded out of his back and he stood overlooking a background that looked straight from the Sound of Music.

“He suggests that we, as schools, should cut down on the amount of unhealthy food being sold in our cantines. For that reason, as of now, we are outlawing all unhealthy food in Gilliam High. Here’s a little promotional video for our Munch Prohibition.”

She clicked a button and a video began to play. It showed a packet of crisps being placed on a podium. Then, the camera man began to walk backwards, the shaking image suggesting they weren’t just zooming. Then, they stopped, showing the Caretaker now, lifting the rifle he used to shoot seagulls. Placing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, he began to fire and the video cut to slow motion explosions as the packet of crisps was torn apart by the bullets. 

The video cut now, to show chocolate bars exploding, the rugby team tackling a nervous Year Seven carrying an ice lolly, a child having his face pressed against a glass window and his bag being torn open to reveal stashes of Cheese Strings and Baby Bels. The next shot was of the dinner ladies being fired, only to be replaced by the local Olympian, grinning and throwing Apples at people. The video ended with a Jelly Baby being placed in a Bunsen Burner. As it began to scream, a caption across the bottom of the screen read, “You will sound like this Jelly Baby if you are caught with Munch in school.”

The video ended. Mrs Montgomery smiled at her audience and then said, “The teachers will be vigilant in guarding this school from the horror of Munch. Every week, the top ten teachers to have collected the most unhealthy food will be treated with cake in the staff room. We are taking this seriously, Year Eleven. We want you to too.”

She bowed her head and then wandered down the stairs. There was an awkward silence for another two minutes as the projector screen rose again.

Mr Deterich stepped back out. “Okay then. Before we dismiss you to lessons, there’s a new member of the Gilliam Family that we need to introduce you to.”

Next to Ali, Desmond Gilliam looked terrified at the prospect of a sibling. Then he realised they meant a new teacher.

“We have got a new Executive Principal to look after the school on its journey out of Special Measures and his name is… Mr Moose. Let’s give him a cheer.”

Smoke began to pour of the sides of the stage. The curtains were hauled back. Spotlights suddenly shone across the room, building up over the stage. Stepping forth, out of the gloom, into the white shine was a man who was easily seven foot tall. He wore a pair of pale blue trousers with a brown blazer jacket that was somehow three sizes too big for him. The light twinkled across his head. Stepping out, he fixed his eyes on his audience. Despite the fact he wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, everyone got the distinct feeling that he was drilling into their souls.

“Hello.” He said, his Northern accent painfully strong. “I’m Mr Moose.”

Everyone stared at him, unsure what to make.

“I just want to say a few words before we go on this journey together.” He turned around and pointed through the far wall. “Once upon a time, I had a cousin. That cousin owned a dog. That dog was called Albert. I walked Albert once. He was a lively Cocker Spaniel and no mistake. As I walked him across the gala field just outside this very room, my daily recitation of a Shakespearean sonnet was interrupted by my sudden glance of this building. I found it a shining sentinel of education, a brilliant beacon, a glowing gateway, a stepping stone to a new and exciting future. I looked at this building and I said, I do wonder what that building is. Unfortunately, in the process of my musings, Albert escaped his leash and ran into the road, where he was immediately run over by a mosher on a skateboard. I ran over and screamed at this mosher, but he simply replied, ‘I’m a mosher,’ and kept skating. I was outraged, but more disheartened by the sight of my cousin’s poor dog, dying on the road. I knelt down and realised the dog didn’t have long to live, but the time it did have would be in immense pain. So, deciding to be a Good Samaritan, I grabbed its neck and squeezed the life out of it. I became a man that day and so, I find it very important to now be stood inside this building here, ready to turn all of you boys and girls, into men.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

He turned back to face the audience and pointed to the far door. “Now, destiny isn’t something that can be controlled. By definition, it's a celestial force out of the reach of the human man. When destiny comes a knocking, you better be ready otherwise it won’t help you on your way. You can’t be late for destiny, just as you can’t be late for Assembly. Unlike these rapscallions. Bring ‘em in.”

The door at the far end opened and about twenty or thirty students wandered in, Freya and Chris amongst their ranks. Mr Moose, his eyes yet to blink, waved them down the centre aisle, between the columns of chairs. “Now, these young people you see now are all disgusting. Don’t you find them shameful? They have been late to your assembly and think they can just cruise in, nonchalantly. That’s a good word. Nonchalantly. Point is, actions have repercussions. That’s Physics, that is. Their action of being late has the repercussion of making them terrible people who will never achieve anything. Looking at this lot, I bet none of them have ever got anything higher than an F in any of their exams. That’s science. Now, I know that we all hate them. I hate them too. Tell them how much you hate them. Come on. Let’s shout.”

The audience turned from looking at the parade of students to instead frowning at Mr Moose. Mr Moose stepped down from the stage with no effort at all and walked forward to the first student. Reaching out one gigantic finger, he thrust it into the student’s face and said, “You are a disgrace. A complete disgrace.”

He turned to the next student. “I hate you. You have stupid hair.”

He turned to the third student. “You’re an idiot. Your mum’s an idiot. Your kids will be idiots.”

He turned to the fourth student. “The Human Race doesn’t accept you.”

He turned to the fifth student and punched her.

He turned to the sixth student. “You’re so bloody stupid you're not even wearing the right tie! I wouldn’t trust you with anything. You make me sick. How did you even get into this school?”

The sixth student stared up at him, wide eyed. “I’m the Head Boy.”

Mr Moose ignored him and turned to the seventh student, grabbing them and throwing them to the floor. “That’s where your aspirations should be, you poisonous mushroom.”

He turned to the eight student and slapped them, but then grabbed their face between his gigantic hands. “I don’t have any bread but you’re still an idiot sandwich.”

Then he turned around and looked at the eight students he’d assaulted and insulted. “Now, I could continue but I’m very conscientious that you’ve all got a first lesson to attend. As a result of that, I’m going to return to an old maxim of mine. When in doubt, do what Jesus would do. As a result of that, I’m going to forgive each and every one of these students.”

He stepped forwards and grabbed the eighth student, squeezing them against his chest in a gangly hug. “You are forgiven. You were an idiot sandwich, but now you have the chance to prove yourself again.”

He repeated this for each of the students until he returned to the stage, clambering back up onto the top and turning to his audience. “Now, I’m going to wipe the slate clean with this school. We’re going to start again. Remember, be on time otherwise destiny will not take place. Let’s work together to build a new empire of clever students. Thank you, Year Eleven. Good luck with your A-Levels.” 

He gave a bow and then retreated back into the gloom.

The audience all stared at the stage for a very long time, the curtains pulling to a close as the smoke machines pumped for a little longer and then Mr Deterich stepped out.

“Let’s go be world beaters?”

Emerging from the Assembly Hall, Chris and Freya hurried over to Steven and Sophie. Ali joined them. “What the hell was that?” She asked. “He punched Katie!”

“You do know why he’s working here now, don’t you?” Steven asked. His parents were teacher so he got all the gossip. 

“No.” The others frowned. 

“Well, at Windgrass, his last school, he had a student who was a drug dealer. He took all the student’s drugs and disposed of them safely then went and blew up the warehouse they were getting them from with equipment he found in the science department.” Steven said. “They gave him the Best Teacher of the Year Award for it.”

“He’s a maniac!” Chris cried.

“He’s a lucky maniac. The student’s dad owned this Wholesalers. Moose can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants, free of charge!”

Ali caught sight of Mr Jensen making his way over to tell them to go their ways. “Right, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“We’re in the same lessons all day.” Freya frowned.

“Not today. You four have got trips, haven’t you?”

“Oh yeah!” Chris exclaimed. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

“What trip are we going on?" Steven frowned.

“Chris and Freya are going to the Ancient History Museum. Me and you are going with a few other prefects to visit Mr Andrews in Hospital.” Sophie said, rolling her eyes. Was she the only person who remembered anything?

“Oh great. That means the minibus.” Steven sighed, remembering the last time he’d nearly given himself a concussion in the low roofed minibus.

“Right, see you late.” Ali said and ran off.

The others made their way over to the lunch hall, where people waited to go on trips. Sophie and Steven made their way to join a few other prefects on the far side and Chris and Freya went over to where a History Teacher named Mrs Lynne was handing out small leaflets. She gave one to Freya and then checked the two of them off her register.

“I hate History.” Chris sighed. “It’s so boring. It’s literally a subject stuck in the past.”

“Wait a minute.” Freya frowned. “I don’t think you will be finding it that boring.”

“Why?”

“Look what the main exhibition is!”

Chris took the leaflet from her and read. A smile spread across his face. “Oh, that is interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” Freya said. “Time for us to know our enemy.”

The main exhibition was an exploration of the Legend Of The Camel God.

Dreamweaver (part 4)

The sound of erratic electric violin playing haunted the grotesque halls of Coin’s castle. It was threatened only by the faint hum of ancient machinery. Ali was a geek, there was no denying this, and so she’d dabbled with lots of different comics over the years. One such comic was Hollow Earth, the first volume of the Bureau of Paranormal Defence’s adventures. She felt like she was in that. (I’m aware how vague a reference that is, but google it - Ed)

The point was, the gigantic castle was gothic in the extreme. The walls were carved from glittering obsidian, gigantic chandeliers of flickering ember swinging above her head as she strolled. There were flaming torches sat on either side of every door, the heads of which looked worryingly like skulls. She tried her best to ignore their fiery gaze.

Realising that none of his cages could hold her, Coin had let her free. He said he knew her primitive mind couldn’t risk destroying his plans or comprehend how impossible it was to escape. She had come very close to swearing at him, but instead sped off into the far distance.

The castle was expansive, she’d give Coin that for all his faults. On Chris’ Minecraft Server, Chris and Sophie had created a huge fortress (known as Lucky Catsie’s Castle) which they’d spent hours and hours working on yet, despite all that, Coin’s castle was still more impressive. Every room was the size of a mansion, the roofs vaulted and the walls intricately carved with immense detail. Every wall was adorned with lovingly painted complexities; she spent four hours staring at an impression of a Lowry painting, only to realise that every face in the gigantic crowd had been replaced with that of students from Gilliam High. 

The violin playing was growing louder all the still so Ali decided to investigate. She’d started off touring the castle at full speed, only breaking from the purple haze for momentary breaks before setting off once more. Now, however, as she began to hear her stomach grumble, Ali realised she couldn’t continue as she had been going. Instead, she walked her way to the grand hall and attempted to sneak between the huge spouts of technology. They were colossal machines, all cogs and chimneys mixed with Van De Graaff spheres and fizzing Tesla Coils. There were pulley systems hanging about that’d make Archimedes jealous. Ali didn’t pay attention to it, however, because she was too busy studying the cobbles under foot to ensure they didn’t move and alert Coin to her presence. Not that she’d expect him to be able to hear anything under the sound of that erratic violin.

As she reached the end of the machinery, Ali dropped to her knee and peered out at Coin. He was stood on the slightly raised platform at the front of the hall. In front of him, there was a huge frame beneath a velvet curtain, a golden rope ready to pull the curtain open. Light was shining through the stained glass above. 

Suddenly, Coin stopped playing and placed the violin down on a table to his side. I say table, to Ali it looked more like an steampunk altar, half of it covered in a plethora of complicated levers, dials and different mechanisms. From a chair on the side, he picked up his purple cloak and slung it over his shoulders, then pulled on his 3D glasses. With a devilish stroke of his ginger goatee, he began to lecture an invisible audience.

“Tonight, we make history.” Coin said. “Oh, great lord of the Alternate Realm, for the first time since the Incident and since millennia before, I shall align the dimensions of the multiverse. The Convergence shall begin tonight and with it, the Camel God shall cometh!”

He grabbed the golden rope and yanked it. The crimson curtain fell away, revealing a frame on the other side. It was like a gigantic painting frame but strewn with coppery wires all hooked up to the tesla coils emerging from each block of technology. There was a winding lever to its side which he grabbed and began to revolve, lowering a gigantic projector from above. Ali felt like she was in a very steampunk version of the classrooms back at Gilliam High.

“Using my Infinite Doorway Aligner, I will break down the extra dimensional barriers and open a tunnel through which you, my great lord, can clamber. Your Realm can spill into ours and the ascension of humanity, of all the Multiverse’s peoples, will begin. Camel God, I summon you.”

He went to click on the projector block, presumably the Infinite Doorway Aligner, only to stop and frown. “Ali, I know you’ve been watching me all along, just as I know your friends are approaching on horseback as we speak. I control all in this realm. I know all.” He smiled, his beard sparkling. “I know that they will die just as easily as I summon the Camel God and thus ascend existence to its next plane.”

The Gang were approaching, but it wasn’t on horseback. No. Steven wasn’t quite that efficient. They approached on donkeys. He had managed to summon them a variety of Dungeons and Dragons based equipment too; swords, axes, a gigantic carpet and a Dungeon Master’s Guide that was thick enough to break a man’s skull with just one swing. They each took their weapons; Chris taking the carpet as a cape, Sophie the swords, Freya the axes and affectionately naming them Stabby and Slashy and Steven the book because books rocked his world. The donkeys groaned under the additional weight but thundered on regardless, towards the darkness of Dreamweaver’s Fortress of Shadows.

It was an imposing structure, a giant necromancer’s toothpick, protruding from the hill side like a sword from an octopus. “Any chance you can summon a diamond pickaxe?” Chris shouted as they rode towards the obsidian palace.

“I summoned a carpet earlier, Chris.” Steven replied. “Don’t push your luck.”

They rode on, brave and valiant, their donkeys winding up the jagged path that lined the cliff face and then onto the top where the trees became thin and the tower loomed closer. The path became so thin now that they had to pull into a quadrant, Steven and Sophie taking the lead and Freya and Chris behind.

“Hey, Chris,” Freya said, pulling her donkey a little closer so they could hear each other over the howling winds, “Chris!”

The illustrious leader of their small team snapped out of the dark recesses of his mind that he’d evidently fallen into and turned to her. “Sorry.” He replied. “I was just… thinking. You alright?”

“Yeah, as long as you are.” She said. “You looked like you’d just discovered the secrets of the universe.”

“Wouldn’t I look happy if I’d done that?” He frowned. “My glands would be secreting happy endorphins had I done that.”

To celebrate his pun, Chris graced her with double finger guns, only to realise how bloody terrifying such an incident is for all involved when you’re meant to be steering a donkey with both hands. He quickly took hold of the reins again.

“You know what I mean. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He said. “Just, storming a massive castle isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be fine. You’re Captain Jaffa Cake.”

“But I’m not though, am I?” Chris replied.

“What?”

Chris sighed. He didn’t like talking to Freya because he could trust her and that opened him for all sorts of emotional outpourings. As a general rule, he wasn’t really into emotions that much. They weren’t a thing that often bothered him; sure, he got happy and laughed a lot but he didn’t let any of the other emotions get to him. It just wasn’t part of his character. (Which makes him bloody difficult to write - Ed.) “Look, you’ve got to promise not to tell Sophie and Steven. I love them both, of course, but the idea of Sophie knowing anything about my emotional state deeply unnerves me and I’m the one that Steven goes to when he’s feeling emotionally needy, not the other way round.”

“Chris, what’s this about?” Freya asked, frowning.

“Just promise.”

“I promise.”

“Thanks. The point is, well.” He paused. “How do I word this?”

“Slowly and calmly.” She smiled, unsure how she was being so sage about the whole thing.

Chris took a few moments to get his thoughts together and then said, “Sophie is Lucky Cat, isn’t she? She can control probability anytime she likes. Same with Steven. He’s the Summoner. He can summon whatever whenever, albeit it not very well but still. There’s nothing stopping him from doing it. Then there’s Ali. She can go at the speed of sound with the click of her fingers. She doesn’t need to put on the costume. And you, you can stop time at the drop of a hat, then pick up the hat and carry it to the other side of the room before pressing play. You’re constantly Tempus. Tempus is part of you.” He sighed. “Me on the other side. I’m Chris Rogers. I’m just a computer scientist with puns and revision guides and quirkiness, right? Then, I eat a Jaffa Cake and BOOM! Captain Jaffa Cake is there, looking handsome and bold, ready to save the world. But that's not me. That’s a different guy. We can say he’s my inner persona all we like but we both know it’s not true. When Mr Phillips is showing me one of Bessie’s screens with pictures of us on, I see you, I see Sophie and Steven, I see Ali and then I see some other guy who looks a bit like me. You guys are superheroes. I’m a kid who has to become someone entirely different before I can actually do anything. Look at me now. All you guys, limbering up, getting ready to kick ass with your powers and I’m sat here useless because I haven’t had a stupid little biscuit. I’m a fraud. A liar. I might as well not even be here.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You would say that.”

“No, Chris. I mean it.” She said. “Jaffa Cakes aren’t biscuits.”

Chris let a smile spread across his unusually sombre face. 

“And anyway, the rest of it's nonsense too. Steven, Sophie and Ali might have their powers all round the clock but we don’t.” She sighed in the same regretful strain as Steven had. It was her typical policy to listen to other people talking and only offer her opinion when she absolutely sure it wouldn’t conflict against anyone else’s. (They didn’t want a repeat of the collarbone incident* now, did they?) Now, however, Chris was in need and so it was her duty to venture her experiences. “Back in DnD club, I could have stopped that entire thing if I’d frozen time. But I didn’t. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t freeze time. My powers didn’t work. Then I tried again when me and Sophie went to see Mrs Carpenter but it didn’t work then, either. I don’t know if I’ve lost my powers or just my proficiency with them but I’m just as useless as you might feel right now.”

“That’s your excuse for being useless?” Chris frowned. “For giving in? Are you being serious?”

A voice in Freya’s head reminded her this was why she didn’t usually share her vulnerabilities. “Yes. Yes, it fudging is. I’ve got no confidence for these things anymore!”

“Freya, you are the best exam taker I know. Seriously, I go into exams wishing I was half as capable as you. Steven does, Sophie does, half the bloody year group does. The other half is too busy being too drunk or too high to know who you are or that they’re in an exam but that’s not the point.” He let a fleeting smile grace his lips. “The point is that when Mrs Vault is being a cow, you don’t give up after two questions. When the Maths papers are killing us, you don’t refuse to turn up to paper three because papers one and two kicked your ass. This is just like an exam, but with more psychopathic, reality altering, mad quantum physicists running around. Just because you didn’t do as well as you’d like in the mocks doesn’t mean you’re going to fail the final exam.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do.” He smiled, his voice sinking to its maximally reassuring tone. “You’re amazing, Freya. Don’t let a little thing like crippling situational anxiety and a lack of all confidence get in your way.”

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“You ask me, you don’t need a biscuit to be a superhero.”

“I can’t tell if that’s you trying to be reassuring or pointing out the fallacy of the situation because Jaffa Cakes aren’t biscuits.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“This is a surprisingly long stretch of path.” Chris frowned and looked up, just in time to notice a flaming boulder being flung from the top of the tower.

“Duck!” Steven screamed, trying to summon Entropy Elephant (yeah, you’d forgotten about him! So had we. - Ed) to put the fire out, but it was too late. 

“Where?” Sophie frowned, then changed the probability of the flaming boulder missing them. It rolled a natural one in its range check and flew straight over them, instead crashing into the road and slinging up a spray of glowing pebbles in all directions.

“That was a warm reception.” Chris said, and resisted the need for finger guns.

*Don’t ask - Ed

Inside the castle, Mr Coin cursed. He stepped down from the platform, his cape flowing out from behind him as he did. Marching, with impeccable style, over towards Ali, he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up. For a geek, he was surprisingly strong. 

“Come on, Flish.” He sneered. “You will play your part in the Convergence now, rather than later! Oh Camel God, great lord of the Alternate Realm, hear my call! We begin our work towards the alignment of the worlds now!”

He carried her around some of the machinery until they reached the space between one of the far walls and a machine that looked suspiciously like a hamster wheel. “Get in.” Mr Coin said.

“No!” She cried. “Do I look like a flipping hamster?”

He looked her up and down. “A little bit, yeah. It’s the way your cheeks bulge when you’re laughing.”

She made noises at him frustratedly, finally managing to string together some words. “That is a horrible thing to say! There is no way I’m going to help you if you talk like that! Ugh! You horrible person.”

“Ali Grant, if you do not step into that hamster wheel right now and help me carry out my plans of multiversal domination, I will be very annoyed, bordering on moderately upset.” Realising that probably wouldn’t work, he added, “And I’ll kill your sister.”

“You wouldn’t do that, Mr Coin.”

“I am not Jon Coin. I am Dreamweaver and you will do as I say or I will spill your sister’s blood in sacrifice to the Camel God.” 

There was something about the blazing eyes beneath his 3D glasses that made Ali reconsider being cheeky again. Solemnly, she stepped into the hamster wheel and began to run. 

“Good.” He said. “Keep going until the multiverse is aligned and the Camel God has returned!”

With that, he melodramatically swept his cape to the side and marched down the length of the hall to a pair of very small doors. They opened under his touch and allowed him out onto the balcony that overlooked the path the Gang were approaching along. He flung a flaming boulder at them but when that failed he decided he’d need to do something just slightly more impressive. Thinking about it for a second, he decided that he had complete control over the Physics and Geology of the world they stood in. He could do whatever he wanted to it and they wouldn’t be able to complain.

With that, the Dreamweaver wove nightmares.

Around the Gang, still galloping along the clifftop peninsula, the ground began to crumble and contort. Cracks spread out, huge black scars, like two dimensional lightning strikes. From the growing fissures, dust and gas hissed in violent release. In some places, magma was thrown up, becoming lava as it was observed. Sophie thought of Schrödinger’s Volcano. Steven thought of a Boomtown Rats parody a Geography teacher had once shown him about pyroclastic flows. 

There was a growling from the floor beneath them; it had already been shaking but now it positively quaked, a ripple passing through it and threatening to uproot the donkeys from where they galloped. It was followed by a tremor of immense proportions so powerfully rich, so chaotically deep that it could only be a roar. There were creatures swirling around them and they were growing stronger by the second.

“Sophie!” Chris cried. “What’s the plan?”

Before she reply, there was a rip-roaring explosion from their side and a gigantic Empire-Strikes-Back style worm monster exploded from the ground. 

“Oh god.” Sophie cried. “We’ll be worm out before we even get there.”

“Now isn’t the time for puns!” Freya cried.

Suddenly, the ground on the other side of the path was beginning to rumble too. It fractured and crumbled, spewing up dust clouds full of debris. More of the worm creatures began to spew out, one head then another and another. It was like a nightmarish realisation of the elephant’s toothpaste experiment. Their bodies were long and cylindrical, disguised by evolution to look like scales but in all truth as weak as creatures that spent their entire lives away from danger could allow.

On the other hand, the massive gaping jaws filled with spindly, gleaming teeth didn’t look as if they were a result of logical evolution either.

One of the worms suddenly lunged towards the centre pathway, its mouth stretching open so wide it could engulf all four of them in one go. “DUCK!” Steven shouted at the top of his voice. The Gang threw themselves into their donkeys, the worm roaring over them, its hide rubbing against their backs. Dirt trickled down and then, suddenly, the worms were burying themselves once more in the ground on the other side, forming a huge, muscular loop over the heroes. 

In such a situation, there are two possible scenarios. One is that the donkeys stop running, frozen to the spot with fear. The other is that the donkeys run quicker because they’re so terrified. It was the latter that happened, with the donkeys thundering on and neighing with anger as they did. 

Despite this, the worms followed, terrible roars bursting forth from their lungs as they rampaged through the air. Some of them, arching over the path and then digging down deeper into the ground, began to burrow further and constricted around the pathway until it was torn in two. The leg of Chris’ donkey was sucked into the crush, snapping it and sending Chris, carpet and everything else sprawling.

“Chris!” Freya cried, as another worm caught sense of him and reversed its path, turning around and opening its jaw wider than Physics suggested was possible. Coin was in charge of this world; he set the laws of Physics here.

The worm roared towards him. Chris placed the carpet above his head, tried to hide himself from his unending peril. His last thought wasn’t of fear, wasn’t of the fact that Captain Jaffa Cake could probably have got him out of there. The thought was of a new friend he’d just made on the Minecraft server and how he’d probably never get to talk to her again.

Then suddenly Freya was there, stood atop her donkey, twin axes swirling through her hands. She leapt off, swinging through the air, both axes raised to the heavens, her knees bent as she sailed. The blades bit into terrible worm flesh, cutting like a hot knife through butter. The worm screamed, beginning to fit in fatal agony. Within an instant, it had lost all life and died, falling away into the dark realms from whence it came.

Freya swung off her donkey and, although she kept one hand on the reins so it wouldn’t run off, she offered her other hand to the fallen Captain in order to help him up. “I’m assuming you missed that, right?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Why does no one ever see my badassery?”

Helping him up, the two of them turned around to return to the battle, just in time to see two more of Coin’s flaming boulders soaring towards them.

Coin, stood on his balcony, laughed to himself. Gas worms were one of his favourite inventions, created in a Dungeons and Dragons session during his university years to deal with a player whose immediate reaction was to set everything on fire. To bring them to life now, well, it was his greatest privilege. He threw the flaming boulder towards it, excited to see the old monster in action. 

The flaming boulder hit the gas worm and tore through its flesh. Then it met the gas that acted inside it as blood. “Oh shoot.” Freya had time to say before the entire thing grew into a gigantic explosion.

“Keep riding!” Sophie shouted to Steven, even though she knew two of her friends might have died. She couldn’t think about that, she couldn’t think about them being torn apart in a huge ball of fire, their bodies nothing more than ashen remains, char hanging limply from roasted skeletons. They had to save Ali now. That was all they had left.

The fire from the nearest gas worm spread to the next and the next. The writhing archways surrounding our heroes suddenly erupted into crimson streaks of powerful amber. The heat was tangible, the sweat rolling down their faces evaporating as it did. The ground was scorched. The donkeys brayed in terror. Shock waves rolled out in all directions and, on them, the most incredible sight Coin had ever seen was carried a loft.

Chris was holding both sides of the massive carpet as it was carried aloft by the force of the shock waves. Freya clung to his back, as Physics demanded they kept their mass concentration to the same area. It worked quite well, actually, as the carpet began to act like a hang glider, delivering them through the air and towards the balcony where Dreamweaver was waiting for them.

“Hey!” Steven cried from below. “Freya!”

Freya looked down, just in time to see the Dungeon Master’s guide flying towards her. She managed to catch it, slipping it into her pocket and returning her grasp to Chris before falling. “Can you go any faster?”

“Not unless you’ve got a propellor with you.” He replied. 

And with that, the two of them flew slowly towards the balcony of Dreamweaver’s castle. The Physics teacher laughed and spun, his purple cape spiralling out behind him. He was ready to finish the Convergence and he wasn’t going to let a couple of teenagers stop him.

They burst through the window as Dreamweaver made his way towards the raised podium.

“Mr Coin!” Freya cried. “Stop in the name of justice!”

“I’ll go find Ali.” Chris hissed and began to dart away, but not before draping the carpet back around his shoulders and taking the Dungeon Master’s Guide from Freya. 

Dreamweaver turned, as menacingly as he could, and cried, “How do you expect to stop me, Freya Carter? I am the Lord of this Dimension, the Master of this Reality. I am Dream-”

Freya reached to her sides and took hold of Slashy and Stabby. “I’m sorry to cut you off but I don’t think your plan is cut out for this.”

“The same pun twice.” Dreamweaver replied. “I think I’ll be more imaginative in killing you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Freya replied, and raced towards him, axes brandished.

Dreamweaver threw out his hands and axes that looked a lot bigger than Freya’s appeared in them. As she approached, he swept out with one of his. Sparks bounced as the two metal heads collided. Freya stepped back, ducked a large swing and ran beneath Dreamweaver’s flowing cape. Passing behind him, unseen, she swung her axe towards him again but he was in control of his dimension and knew where she was immediately. He spun just in time to catch the attack with his axe, knocking it away and laughing evilly. “I am too powerful!” He cried, dropping an axe and using the empty hand to send a shock wave blasting through the air towards her. “You will never beat me!”

As Freya flew through the air, she had a sudden mental image. A question on Maths Paper One (Non Calculator.) Circle theorems. She’d looked at it, unable to comprehend what it was asking her to do, never mind actually do it. That night, when she’d got home, she’d revised Circle Theorems more than any other topic, probably recklessly so. It resulted in her not having a clue what to do the next day on Paper Two, when a question on angles in parallel lines came up. She revised that too, alongside Circle Theorems. Then, on the third day, she’d done Paper Three. The last question, six marks, was on both Circle Theorems and angles in parallel lines. She’d got full marks on that question. If she could do that, why couldn’t she do this? Coin wasn’t too powerful; he was too arrogant.

Freya hit the floor and snapped out of her flashback, rolling across the cobbles, bloodying her nose in the process. She sat up, cartoon birds swirling around her. Trying to get to her feet, she became increasingly dizzy but she had to. She couldn’t let him win. 

He’d taught them back in Year Nine and, although he was wonderful teacher, he wasn’t a wonderful teacher of the curriculum. Sure, they’d learnt about quantum teleportation and Multiple World Interpretation but they hadn’t learnt about volcanoes and so they’d all failed their exams. Maybe now was the time to get him talking about something he was interested in. “Why Mrs Carpenter?” Freya asked, clambering to her feet. “Why did you bring Mrs Carpenter to this dimension?”

“The same reason I brought you to this dimension.” He said. “The same reason I brought Mr Jordan and Miss Boseman* and all the others.”

(*Miss Boseman was their Biology teacher who, for some reason, turned into a minator and went on burger rampages. They called her the Beefalo.)

“But what’s the reason?" Freya frowned. “Why?”

“Because the Camel God demanded it.” Dreamweaver said, obviously pleased to have an audience. “He needs an army of superpowered humans to support him ascend this world. For reasons that not even the deep logicians of the Chaos Theory can comprehend, beings who can control such power have conglomerated at Gilliam High. Other people would have been sickened by a radioactive explosion, vaporised even, but not we. We gained powers and those powers will allow the Camel God’s ascension.”

“But why didn’t Mrs Carpenter recognise us?”  Freya asked. Come on, keep him talking whilst you get yourself working. It’s just like two Lego Bricks, needing to click into place. Mentally, she pushed the metaphorical, Danish playthings together with all her might.

“Because she is not your Mrs Carpenter, just as Mr Jordan isn’t your Mr Jordan. The high security prison you’ve had them sent to is unescapable, even to me, a master of reality. I had to take versions of the teachers from other dimensions, where they are yet to gain their abilities. I’m sure, however, that the Camel God won’t mind bestowing their powers once more.”

She would have questioned that last statement. Surely the Camel God couldn’t be the source of their powers, whoever he was, but it was too late. The metaphorical Lego Bricks were putty in her hands. She ran towards Dreamweaver, axes raised. He sighed and began to assume a defensive pose, when suddenly he found he couldn’t.

Click. The bricks pressed together and time stood still.

Freya ran to him and dug her axe into his, snapping it in half. The sudden force of collision knocked her concentration and time unfroze but the damage was done and she was able to jump out of the way as he tried to grab her. 

Spinning round mid run, she swirled her axes and threw one towards him. He leapt up, avoiding the axe’s path as it carved through the air below his legs and she paused time with him levitating. She didn’t know how long she could hold those metaphorical bricks together, it was like there was a force inside them pushing to get out, but it didn’t matter. She was quick.

Grabbing his cape, she lifted it up and trapped it against a beam hanging from the room using her axe. Then she ran into the machinery, doing her best to hold time still but ready to let Dreamweaver swing whenever she needed to.

If only she’d looked at the portal. She might have seen the form of a demonic entity, all glowing colours and malevolence, slowly pressing to the front, seemingly unaffected by the metaphorical bricks clicking together.

Chris was unaffected by the time freeze. That was probably the best thing about being a superhero in his opinion: a level of immunity to his friends’ abilities. He ran through the machinery, terrified, heart thudding. For all he knew, Ali might be dead, might be tortured and disemboweled. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would do in such a situation but the notion didn’t really please him. He prayed to whatever Gods people generally prayed to in desperate hope he wouldn’t be presented with such a reality.

The Gods evidently answered his prayers for, instead of Ali’s corpse, he found a gigantic hamster wheel with his friend running around it. “Ali!” He cried, grinning. A frown crossed his head as he looked at the wheel. “I don’t mean to ham-stare but what’s going on?”

“Why?” She replied, her voice pained and slogged but probably from the pun rather than the exertion. “Why would you make that joke?”

“I’m just trying to lighten the situation,” Chris replied. “Can you slow down?”

“No.” She said. “I’ve tried but there’s just too much momentum or something. I can’t stop!”

“Then I’m going to have to stop you.”

“Could you eat a Jaffa Cake first? No offence.”

Chris ignored it (or rather, he allowed it to niggle at him from his subconscious rather than from the rest of his brain) and stared at the set up. The hamster wheel was built into a massive block of machinery, an axle down the centre controlling its movement. There was probably a dynamo on the other side, transferring the kinetic energy into electrical. Wires ran from a box on top of the machine to the projector like object pointing at the huge frame with the pandimensional portal in it. Despite being a Computer Science prodigy, Chris realised that he knew very little when it came to extra dimensional travel machine terminology.

If he could break the dynamo, perhaps it would jam the entire system and stop the wheel? He cursed. It was a rubbish idea and he knew it. If only he had some kind of guide to this mad world of Coin’s, some kind of rule book. Suddenly he realised the weight in his hand. He looked down and grinned. He’d always hated Dungeons and Dragons.

Stepping forward, he jammed the Dungeon Master’s Guide into the space between the wheel and the wall it was sat in. The wheel stopped moving instantly, throwing Ali into the axle and knocking her to the ground. She managed to regain consciousness for long enough, however, to clamber out of the wheel and down to the ground.

“My hero.” She said, frowning at Chris. “Superman wouldn’t have let me hurt my head.”

“I’m not Superman.” Chris replied.

Suddenly, Freya burst around the corner. “I can’t hold it any longer.” She said and exhaled. It was hard to ignore the rivulet of blood running down from her right nostril. 

Time began to flow again, yet the portal didn’t die away. 

“I must have generated so much electricity it began to store it!” Ali cried. “Damn!”

“We need to do something, Chris.” Freya said, although she sounded slightly dazed as she spoke.

Chris frowned. What could he do? He was just a lanky Computer Science student from the North West of England. He had no powers, no talents. How was he meant to stop a gigantic extra-dimensional machine. Then he suddenly realised. “It’s just a massive computer. I can do computers.”

“The control panel is near to the portal!” Ali cried. “Come on!”

The three of them ran out of the machinery and over towards the control panel. It was slightly more complicated than your average Windows PC but the plethora of levers, dials, displays, plungers and general stuff didn’t matter when they considered what was straight in front of them. An On/Off switch.

“Do it, Chris!” Freya cried. Inside the golden frame, the portal was beginning to swirl more and more powerfully, bright colours oozing out like a rainbow on steroids. “Quickly!”

“Stop right there!” Dreamweaver cried. There was the tear of material and he fell from where his cape had suspended him. Raising both hands, he summoned machine guns. “One further move and I’ll blow you both to Hell.”

“At least there will be something left of them to go to Hell.” Said a voice from behind him. “I’m the goddamn Summoner and I’ve summoned a Intercontinental Ballistic Missile Launcher (Pocket Edition.) This is Lucky Cat. She’s going to make it bloody certainty that only you get vaporised. So I’d put down the guns if I were you.”

Dreamweaver turned and saw, sure enough, Steven and Sophie standing at the balcony, carrying between them a huge rocket launcher with the red tip of a miniature nuclear missile emerging. Sophie shrugged. “You shouldn’t have gone on that lecture about the H-Bomb when you were meant to be teaching us about Nuclear Fission, sir.” 

Dreamweaver sighed and dropped the guns. “Flick the off switch, Rogers. I’ll program it to take us back home.”

The projector like machine was called an Infinite Doorway Aligner. Coin programmed it to align only the doorways that would lead them home. It did just that, the portal firing up in glorious blue. The six of them walked through and emerged, from an orange glow on the other side, in M9, the Geography classroom where the whole thing had begun. 

Character sheets and dice were scattered all across the floor from the proceeding commotion. The model of the cave system, with red paper applied to the trees Chris had burnt, was crushed and destroyed. The Gang, however, were home safe and that was all that mattered.

Mr Phillips came up when Chris emailed him, using his reiterative abilities to undo everything Dreamweaver had done. The alternate dimensional versions of their teachers were sent back to the right domains with no memory of their experiences. M9 was returned to its former glory and Coin’s portable Doorway Aligner was destroyed. 

Men in black suits turned up to arrest Dreamweaver. They asked no questions and gave no thanks. The Gang didn’t mind so much; they were the heroes Gilliam High deserved, regardless of whether they were wanted.

The next morning, sat in the Upper School Dining Hall where Miss Francis had suggested they went to the club in the first place, Chris, Sophie, Steven and Freya laughed and joked about all the badassery that had occurred. “When Freya had the twin axes, though, and was going at the gas worms!” Chris cried. “Oh my, that was so cool!”

“And then the worms were exploding and it was mental!” Steven grinned. “Gas worms. Whoever came up with them must be a genius.”

“You would say that.” Sophie said.

Ali got to the doors and saw the four of them having fun, laughing. They’d had that adventure, without her. She didn’t know if she could bare to listen to it.

“Hey, Ali!” Cried a voice from behind her. She turned and frowned. Desmond Gilliam, the Big D, the grandson of the school’s founder. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” She said. “You?”

“Good, thanks. I meant to come find you yesterday but I forgot. Is it true you’ve got a Ouija Board?”

Ali laughed. “Yeah, my nan meant to buy an ironing board and she thought Ouija was the brand. Why?”

“Me and the Head Girl really wanted to have a go on one and, well, if you’ve got one, we wondered if you wanted to come, have a go with us.”

Ali looked at the others laughing and joking. They wouldn’t miss her. “Yeah, sure. You going to speak to her now?”

“I was planning to, yeah.”

“I’ll tag along.” Ali said, and walked with him, away from the Gang.

After Credits Scene:

High security prison. The walls were black, the uniforms were black. There was an atmosphere of palpable fear everywhere you went. In one of the cells was Donald Jordan, furiously scratching equations onto the walls in chalk. None of the guards knew how he got the chalk, but he did.

In solitary confinement, Celia Carpenter was reciting poetry for hours on end. It had begun to drive the staff mad, but not as much as it did when she asked them questions about real world events that had never happened. One of the guards had broken down in tears when she’d asked whether Japan still had the One Child Policy. 

In another cell was the newest inmate. Jon Coin. He had kept mostly silent so far, with a distant look in his eyes as if he was staring into another dimension. Occasionally, he started rocking back and forth in his seat, shaking as he craved cigarettes and a return to the life he’d started taking for granted.

His hope was beginning to dwindle, his faith in the Camel God with it. Create the portal, the God had whispered, and all will go to plan. The world will be ascended and the endgame played. Yet, for some reason, that wasn’t what was going on. How could it just lie to him like that? He was furious, but also heart broken. And now it was trapped in the Alternate Realm with no hope of ever returning. It made him want to cry.

“Don’t cry, Jon.” Said the form that suddenly appeared next to him. It seemed to shift and morph as he stared at it, but it never lost that stunning white glow, like an ethereal messiah, a divine aurora. Coin realised it was an astral form. The Camel God’s astral form. “Craft. Craft a new world with me.”

“But how did you get here, oh great one?” Coin demanded.

“When the girl paused time, she just gave me an opportunity to step through the portal. I am not confined to the four dimensions, nor am I affected by her powers. Or any of their powers. If anything, she assisted me.” The Camel God noticed his discomfort at this notion. “Fear not. I will reward you for your efforts, as well as her. Your reward will be immortality at my side.”

“And the girl’s?”

“She will be the last of her team to die. They have challenged me too many times but I will vanquish them.”

“You’ll need a body to do that.” Coin said. “Please, take mine. I waste it.”

“I appreciate the offer, Dreamweaver, but no. You are too valuable to me. I think that I will claim the form of another…”

“Another human? Another powered human?”

“No.” The Camel God said, passing through the wall. “Another Physics Teacher.”