Augustus Silver rushed into the library where Inspector Nesbitt and Professor Pinkley were discussing matters of an extremely British nature. Augustus slammed the double doors behind him and turned to display a broad smile.

"I've done it," he said. "I've solved the murders."

"Excellent, lad," Nesbitt said as he puffed on his Meerschaum pipe. "Don't keep us in suspense. Who is the murderer? Out with it."

"I'm afraid it's a fairly involved story."

"Nonsense," Pinkley said. "The guilty party is that Doubleday chap. Why, it must be him. He's quite disagreeable."

"He plays a role," Augustus said, "but not quite as one would expect. You both recall, of course, that this began as a missing person case."

I was expecting so much more,” Peterson said.

“Leave the guy alone,” Denner replied.

“He’s Soldier Boy. He’s supposed to be saving the world, not sitting on his ass.”

“Watch your mouth, okay? He’ll hear you.”

“He can’t hear us.”

Soldier Boy could hear them just fine. He had little else to do but listen as he bled out on the upper floor of an ancient stone bell tower. Peterson and Denner guarded the stairway entrance while four other commandos were spread out around the parapet. The company medic patched Soldier Boy up as best she could, but the wound in his side, left there by alien mobile artillery, was a nasty thing.

 “Awaken, ugly space chimp.”

The Gray alien slowly opened his huge eyes. He was in pain, and he was groggy. Was he drugged, or dying? When his eyes focused he saw a bulky metal figure standing before him.

“The Brass Monkey,” the alien said, “or should I call you Lord McAllister?”

“Brass Monkey will suffice. Only my friends call me Lord McAllister.”

“So, that would be who exactly? Nobody?”

 “It’s an ugly thing,” Jorgen said as he beheld the helmet.

“That’s something you have in common,” Oskar said.

“What do they call this thing again? The Brass Ape?”

“Brass Monkey.”

Jorgen and Oskar had been tasked with removing the various pieces of Germany’s most recent prize from the crates in which it was discovered, polishing them and assembling them for a presentation with some high ranking Nazi officers. The hulking armor stood headless but otherwise complete in a secret warehouse somewhere in the Black Forest.

“It looks more like an ape. There’s a difference, you know. Apes don’t have tails.”

August 5, 1928

Dearest Seer,

I know I address this in nearly every correspondence, but even after three full decades I feel silly referring to you by your nom de guerre. I hold similar sentiments for my own appellation as well as those of our colleagues, but not to the same extent. Given our relationship I would much rather use your proper name. It is a lovely name and I miss the sound of it.

 The opening theme for Quincy M.E. was blaring from the living room. The television was so loud that Fran could barely hear herself think on the other side of the house as she washed dishes. She knew she would have to talk to William about his hearing problem again, and she knew what the reaction would be.

“I don’t have a hearing problem. You just mumble.”

It was hard watching her father-in-law age. The man technically shouldn’t be her problem since the divorce, but Fran always had a soft heart when it came to strays and cast offs.

 “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

Avery Goodman was thrilled when he received the invitation. Not many got the opportunity to travel to another dimension, and Asgard no less.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

His family and friends mocked him for getting a PhD in folklore. He couldn't wait to tell them how it paid off. This was a chance to get first person testimony on so many stories. Just straightening out the genealogy of the Aesir could make his career.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

He should not have been surprised to find that Asgard, and especially Valhalla, was like a beefier and hairier version of a fraternity party.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

 “Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Baker.”

“Oh, please call me Barbara, Mr. Hant, and I have to apologize again for delaying this for so long, but with me trying to make partner and one of our senior partners running for senate my schedule is really full. Am I blithering? I feel like I’m blithering. I’ll stop blithering.“

Mr. Hant smiled as if he did not quite know how to achieve the feat. “Think nothing of it. I have all the time in the world. It does please me that we can finally put this business to rest so that Jack can finally be at peace.

 “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Tempus Fugitive had returned to the end of the universe. Once more he stood before the Eternal One.

“You may,” the Eternal One said as he stared off into space.

“When do I become you?”

“We have always been the same being, Ernie.”

“Yeah, technically, but look at us. We don't even look alike. I'm just a normal Joe and you're...” Tempus Fugitive took in the sight of the Eternal One; inhumanly tall and androgynous with frighteningly large eyes that never blinked. “... different.”

“You are overly concerned with the superficial.”

“Okay, but it ain't all just about the way we look. For instance, what are you doing right now?”

 Amy Winter stood atop a landscape retaining wall at the Battery Park refugee center and scanned the crowd. She clutched a doll which, upon inspection, proved to be alive. Living Doll had spent the first couple of hours at full size holding Amy while they searched the crowd, but the little girl insisted that she should hold the shrinking superhero like an actual doll. Living Doll even allowed Amy to brush her hair, a mistake she would not make twice.

“I don't think mommy's here,” Amy said.

Living Doll hugged the little girl as best she could with her tiny arms. “There's a lot of people here, Amy. It might take a long time for us to find her.”