Ayako Matheu, age 14

Russell Simm's eyes widen with shock and terror, powered by the mind of Ayako.
CNN flashes images and names of the bodies found in the Galveston compound.

My body, he thought numbly. Son of a bitch killed my body.

Ayako had been trying for all these months, desperately searching for a means of getting back into his body. It had been, along with Russell Simm's mind, carted off to a sanitarium. He'd been meticulously planning a way to infiltrate the sanitarium during the holidays, hoping to find the building understaffed.

It appeared now that his work was in vain. Who on earth had gotten his body out of the asylum?
And how will he finally get home without his own body?

WE are not amused

The FBI burst into the house in Galveston where Calvin Bova's IP address had been traced to. Four wheelchairs sat in a line beyond the desktop PC, all occupied. Four people, all bound to the chairs with round after round of duct tape at the wrists, ankles, waist. Four bandanas segmented four necks:

Red for Elane Ruffaner
White for Ayako Matheu
Blue for Bobby Sudduth

and Black for Calvin Bova.

Suicide is out of the question considering how he's been bound.

Calvin is not killing any more. Maybe he never was.

The point is: WE don't know, and because of that, WE are scared.
All WE can do is alert the local police around where WE last saw each of the rest of the players and hope that protective custody will work. But there are still Persons missing. And WE are trying as hard as WE can to find them.

Stay safe.

WE would be remiss if WE continued to sit idly by while disqualified player, Calvin Bova, continually threatens the remaining cast.

Fortunately, WE managed to trace Calvin's IP address to Texas. The FBI has been notified.
Calvin, don't make this any harder than it has to be. WE sympathize with your situation, but WE can't allow you to commit any more atrocities. Please give yourself up.

We Interrupt this Silence for a Late Breaking Development

Knock-knock? Anybody home?

Guess you're all too sleepy to come out and enjoy life, eh?

That's a shame, because it's your last chance to do so.

'Tis the season to be jolly, right?

YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD MAKE ME JOLLY?!

GIVING OUT A FEW HANDKERCHIEFS THIS CHRISTMAS!

Ayako Matheu, age 14

Ayako is number 23 on the lacrosse team.
Ayako picks on the younger guys constantly.
Ayako was molested by his father at age 6.

Now, anyway.

When he descended from his hyper-state, he aimed for his body, but he underestimated the consequences of destroying another mind. Instead of merely shattering defenses, he freed Russell Simms's consciousness completely, and the vacuum created in the aftermath proved too strong to fight against. Ayako was sucked helplessly into Russell's six-foot frame just after the departing Russell screamed his horrible confession.

When Ayako came to, the world seemed clearer (he'd been a tiny bit myopic before) and happier (his physical addiction to the mood-altering drugs had apparently stayed with the Ayako-body). He had to meet with the guidance counselor and offhandedly assured the woman that he'd just been playing a joke on the junior squad, apologized, and was given two weeks detention for such poor taste. Of course, he didn't plan to serve any of it, but this afternoon, it became clear he would have no choice.

Because Ayako's body, which he had been planning to return to at the first opportunity, is now inhabited by Russell. And Mr. and Mrs. Matheu were extremely concerned by their son's sudden wild-man ravings of being someone else--the star varsity lacrosse player and object of Ayako's jealousy for years, in fact. This was too much for them to stand, and now Russell is safely residing in a padded cell at the county mental-health clinic to "calm down for a while." Russell is barely conscious most of the time from all of the medication he is on, so there's not even hope any more of someone believing the boy's story.

Meanwhile, Russell's parents finally were told of the incident on the field and of Russell's "prank." Mr. Simms is none too happy with his son. Tonight, he's going to need to have a talk with the boy.

Ayako is learning quickly why you should never use incredibly powerful psychic powers completely untrained and while on heavy medication.

+20 points

Reginia Ruper, age 23

"Blake...? They're after...after the m-money...don't...Blake...get ou...out of there...I'm comiiiii..."

"She's not...not good...Blake, don't...yer, you're not cray, crazy...Blake...?"

"Don't go, Blake, you take care of me, don't go. Don't let go of my hand, it keeps me here, I keep floating away from you and I can't ...live like that, you're here, and I need you to hold me, hold me, please? Just don't go, I'm so cold it hurts. Stay here, please, just stay...please, Blake?"

"My name isn't Blake, miss."

"Oh, I don't care, just please hold me, I have to, I, Blake, don't go...Stay?"

+2 points, for getting well enough to cut back on the ellipses

Debi Kessner, age 43

Alan is gone. Gone.

Debi woke up this morning and reached over to the corral of blankets acting as his crib beside her on the bed, and her fingers closed on nothing. She sat up with a jolt and a quickly cut-off half-scream of worry. He wasn't there. He wasn't under the blankets forming the sleeping space. He wasn't on the floor on the other side. Or in his playspace in the corner where the imaginary toys Debi summoned for him lay untouched. Or in the hallway, past the room's shut door with the slit window. Or in any other room in the rest home. Or anywhere on the premises.

And when she tried to step off the front lawn to wildly search for her child in the streets or in the Methodist Church abutting the property from the opposite direction, she faded. Faded fast and hard until she felt so cold that she thought she could see her breath. Debi staggered back onto the walkway, unable to feel her extremities. Her lungs were no longer drawing in enough air (imaginary air) to breathe, and she lay down on the front steps, on the verge of passing out.

As orderlies wheeled patients past (up the handicapped-accessible ramp so Debi did not have to wrap her mind around the sight of a foot through her abdomen), she tried to piece together what had happened. It was obvious that she could only exist on the grounds of the rest home, but what was keeping her here? Was someone...?

It hit her hard, and though her ethereal freeze had faded, she felt even colder now.

Someone was still imagining her. Someone in the rest home was responsible for her still existing, and now...now had they taken her baby? Who would do that? How could they do that to someone?

She rose shakily and looked up at the now menacing doors of the Penitent Beeches Assisted-Living Community. Her son was not in there, but her answers were. And if those answers would lead her to Alan, she would keep her calm until she got them. Debi walked up the stairs and reentered her home.

No more Ms. Nice Imaginary Friend.

+6 points

Alyssa Kizer, age 16

The Batmobile sped toward the secret cave, and Batman's hand waved absently over the fingerprint scanner that would open the faux rock face for four seconds, exactly long enough for the sleek black vehicle to flash past the multiple sensors just inside the door and not be blown to oblivion.

It had been a long night. He had collected twelve more of those strange bullets from a warehouse wall in the Sprout District as well as from the bodies next to that wall. The ballistics reports matched, an easy match with that distinctive near-horizontal groove in the side of the bullets. Someone was definitely on a short-burst machine-gun rampage. Starting with that middle-aged suburban couple and---

The Batmobile was doing 90 when the cave door opened...and when the retreating wall pulled the cord nailed into it, in turn pulling the pins from eleven grenades lined up in front of the door.

The car came to a dead halt instantly as its chassis was slammed from the top by four tons of steel and bedrock that collapsed from the resulting explosion. The roof of the Batmobile, able to partially withstand a direct hit from a cruise missile, even it couldn't hold up that much weight. It sank three feet in less than a second, splintering the reinforced backs of the front seat and compressing the leather of the seat cushions. The Bat-Airbag had deployed, but instead of popping under the strain, it (and the Bat-steering-column it was attached to) were forced downward into the space in front of the driver's seat. They went so far into it, the gas pedal was depressed, and the engine roared.

It continued to high-rev like that until the car ran out of gas.

+2000 points to Alyssa for getting past the Batman's security measures (again), avoiding all the cameras, not to mention learning how to work the black market, purchase military arms, and getting total revenge in one big bad blow.

-200 points to Alyssa for jumping to conclusions.

Florencio Paluk, age 25

Chuquina Sommers has an effervescent smile and square jaw that melt right through Florencio's heart. Her deep giggle accompanies his tittering guffaw with divine melodic effect. They are remade for one another.
The first date was a smashing success, lunch at an oyster bar, Pabst for her and a Cosmopolitain for him. They've been together every other night since, and lunch whenever Florencio's demanding schedule can be bent or ignored. Florencio is now on Jessica Simpson's Shit List, but when one is on cloud nine, one can easily overlook such trivialities.
On the downside, work seems somehow less fufilling now. Sean Connery fell asleep during a pre-show facial. Florencio chalked it up to old age...at first. However, when Tom Hanks, king of down-to-earth Hollywood kindness, began snoring in the makeup chair, Florencio decided that something is terribly wrong. Without the tragedy of the sex change operation hanging over his mind, Florencio just can't seem to entertain the celebs the way he used to. They don't want to hear happy endings--they're famous, they LIVE happy endings. They need tragedy to be captivated.

Today, the fear of being fired and eaten by Oprah fastens Florencio to his bed in the morning.
A call finally rouses him from bed.
"Got time for lunch today, sleepy-jeans?" Chuquina teases.
Florencio hops into the shower, whistling their favorite karaoke hit, Islands in the Breeze.

+30x2 points for being part of a cute couple.
-49 points for being noticed by Oprah...in the bad way.

Friendly Hint

By the way, everybody. The 'new' password's not hard to figure out.

Blake Belford, age 21

Blake awoke this morning strapped to a bed. A modern bed.

He had barely enough energy to lift his head, but when he finally did, through the bleary grime rimming his eyes, he vaguely recognized the room. Still too addled to place the exact location though, he tried to call out for help, and winced as his vocal cords squeaked out a painful mewl instead. He fell back in exhaust.

Moments later though, a door opened somewhere to his left, and a familiar young man rushed in, saying, "Blake? Are you back with us?" He stood close over Blake's still form while Blake tried in vain to remember who this guy was. Yes, this was the guy who had brought him broth for the last while of his stay, but he seemed so familiar in some other way as well.

"Blake!" a woman cried from the the doorway, and Blake turned, his eyes widening, to call out: "Laura?!" Sure enough, his sister was standing tentatively at the door and now ran to his side.

"Are you...feeling better?" she asked fearfully, checking his pulse just below the heavy padded restraining band on his forearm. When Blake just looked at her questioningly, she continued, "When Walt here found you," (Oh, right, Blake thought, Walt; her fiance) "you were addicted to Lotus and being held prisoner in some woman's basement. I knew this stupid double-dare idiocy of yours would backfire! Didn't I tell you? Anyway, Walt weaned you off the drug as fast as he dared, then smuggled you out of that madhouse and brought you back into the city. You've been going through a...scary...withdrawal period for a week now, screaming yourself hoarse and trying to break free. But now that you're coherent..." Laura, relieved, undid the strap holding down his right arm, then his left.

She had just turned to undo his leg restraints when Blake snapped his fingers to get her attention. Laura glanced back to look her brother in the eye...and took a brutal right cross to the mouth. She slumped to the bed, and as Walt leapt forward to help her, Blake grabbed an antique mahogany clock from the bedside table and clobbered the man with it.

Blake pushed the two bodies off his lap and reached down to free himself.

+50 points for seeing through The Ruse