Doctor Stephen Strange hovered over the city of Cleveland, a depressed specter. Fingers massaged his careworn temples, trying to ease the pain of shattered plans and prophecies.

It had all gone very wrong, very quickly.

Prophecies were all around, the tools of the gods, the spirits, the entities, made to control humanity without having to do it actively. Memetic boobytraps, clockwork magic. Set them up and watch things fall into place.

At any one time, there were at least six prophecies vying for ascendancy in the cosmic daisy-chain. Most were big, overblown things that were easy to throw off course with a simple word in the right ear or a gesture in the right place. Every once in awhile, an explosion.

Then there were the little ones. The tiny, sneaky prophecies that came in under the radar and changed one life, or two, sometimes for the better but usually for the worse.

But this one…

“Gods,” Strange said, shuddering. The rube goldberg device of prophecies, that’s what it was. Even worse, it was all his fault. Every word of it.

After all, he had designed it.

“Technically, we designed it.”

Strange lowered his hands and glared at the grinning figure of the Strawberry Man, who hovered cross-legged in the air. Dressed as always in a red suit, grinning his red grin, tapping red fingers on his red legs. Strange sighed.

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“Well, I did all of the work, but you made it possible, didn’t you?” the Strawberry Man said, uncoiling from his sitting position. He snapped his fingers. “Made me possible.”

“I doubt if I have ever regretted anything more.”

“Ow,” the Strawberry Man said.

“Forgive me, I’m overtired,” Strange said, waving a hand. “I will stop you, you know.”

“Maybebabyshadylady,” the Strawberry Man said, giving a shrug. Strange winced.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Co-opt my mannerisms. It’s…unpleasant.”

“If I could help it, I would. Should. Could?” The Strawberry Man ran his hands through the pink hair at his temples. “At least I’m not wearing a cape.”

“It’s a cloak, not a cape,” Strange said, absently. “Why can’t I recall the exact nature of the prophecy?”

“Only just now realizing that?”

“Answer me.”

“No,” the Strawberry Man said. Strange’s eyes narrowed. The Strawberry Man floated backwards, gesturing. “You made me, daddio. Made me to keep you on the straight and naddio, so saddio, raddio, baddio. You built the booby trap, and you’re the booby and I’m the trap.”

“I will force you, if I must.”

“You can try, but you won’t like it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Strange said, raising his arms. Lightning the color of the ocean’s depths flew from his curled fingers.

And the Strawberry Man laughed.

---

The mean streets of Cleveland.

Frog and cow met in a thunderous crash of croaking and bellowing. Howard yanked the White Rabbit out of the path of amphibious-bovine destruction and started running for the door.

“C’mon toots, let’s let the beasties battle it out!”

“Forsooth and aye-aye, mon captain,” the White Rabbit said, allowing herself to be dragged towards the door. “Still, if we could but harness the power of-”

“Do you ever stop with the super-villainess schtick?”

“Comedians practice schtick, I practice art,” the Rabbit said, loftily. Howard ignored her and practically jumped through the doorway the Hellcow had come barreling through, only to stop short as a vampire flew past, hit the wall and exploded into dust and bone fragments.

Thus to the Varnaeic Canticle.

“Well, well, well,” a gurgling, rasping, altogether inhuman voice said. Howard turned, jaw-sorry, beak-dropping.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

“I just got through saying that I’m not a comedian-oh!” the White Rabbit walked into Howard and followed his gaze. “That is an unusual hat, I must say.”

“Not a hat,” Howard said.

“Quite right, fowl…for what mere limp bit of haberdashery could feel my thirst for vengeance?” the Turnip said, dusting its hands. It clomped forward on borrowed legs, a horrible amalgamation of root vegetable and human.It’s muscular body was hidden beneath a green jumpsuit, and its head was a skull-sized turnip, covering all of its host’s head but for the hideously grinning mouth. It spread its arms and nodded, the leaf on top of its head wobbling. “None, of course.”

“Coincidences are starting to pile up around here, ain’t they?” Howard said, staring off into the middle distance, towards the fourth wall. Of the police station, of course.

“Are you asking me?” the Turnip said.

“No.”

“Me?” the White Rabbit said.

“Not even close,” Howard said. He glared at the Turnip. “So, you want a piece of me?”

“That depends, duck…are you a Defender?”

“No,” Howard said. The Turnip blinked.

“Oh.”

“Can we go?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. Ar you sure-”

“Positive.”

“Cause, you know, I would have thought-”

“Happens all the time. Don’t worry about it,” Howard said, stomping past, dragging the White Rabbit behind him. The Turnip watched them go, then shook its head.

“Wait a minute…”

“Crap, he’s smarter than I remember. Run!” Howard hit the front doors of the police station at a dead run.

“It’s you he’s after, why am I running?” the White Rabbit said.

“You want to stay? Stay,” Howard said. “Me? I’m finding a bus to New YorAUHGK!”

The wall of the police station exploded as Garko and the Hellcow tumbled into the street. The bestial bovine tossed her head and the Man-Frog was tossed into the air to land heavily at the duo’s feet. He looked up blearily at them, his eyes narrowing abruptly.

“You!”

A webbed hand shot up and out, clawing for Howard. The duck hopped backwards even as the Hellcow thundered forward, snorting.

“Mooooo!”

“Away, milk-giver! The fowl belongs to Garko!” The frog lashed out, punching the charging cow on the side of the head. The vampire stumbled and whirled, baring glistening fangs. Garko grunted and rolled away. “Perhaps Garko will share…”

“None may lay claim to what is MINE!” the Turnip roared, hovering overhead, hands on its hips. “Begone, foolish meat!”

The Hellcow looked at Garko. Garko looked at Hellcow. Everyone looked up at the Turnip.

Howard ducked.

---

The Crooked House.

Gray arms fastened around the Red Rajah and hurled him into the wall, followed by a burp of energy that surged out, driving the red-clad figure deeper into the plaster and wall paper. The house gave a groan as the surviving Mindless One advanced, fists clenched.

“You dare?” the Red Rajah said, rising to his feet with a majestic swirl of his crimson cloak-

Sorry, sorry. I’m getting all verklempt. It’s just that you wait and watch, and one day your little man grows up and takes hold of a possessed jewel-

The Rajah staggered, hands flying to his head-

Crap.

“No,” he groaned, tearing at the mask. “Get…get off of mEEE-”

“Holy crap, Wun-Darr?” Bev was on her feet, reaching towards him. The Mindless One surged forward, reaching for an opponent, any opponent. Aquarian ripped the mask of the Red Rajah away from his face and screamed wordlessly, red light rippling through everything.

“Leave ME!”

The Crooked House exploded.

Bits of plaster and wood fell, smoldering, to land on the blasted chunk of stationary matter that hung suspended in the void.

The Red Rajah/Aquarian was on all fours in the center of the crater that had been the Crooked House, red steam rising from his shuddering form. His cloak popped and snapped like a living thing and stop fighting me! You hear me you putz of a demi-god? Stop fighting!

“No-no-NO!” Aquarian said rising to his knees, fingers clawing at his armor. “Get off of me! You-get-”

You need me! You needed me! You still need me!

“No!”

You-

“Rorkannu is sorry for your agonies,” Rorkannu said, striding down through the emptiness, blue flame-tail lashing. “For they will obviously prevent you from feeling the agonies that Rorkannu himself will inflict on you to their fullest. Disappointing all around.”

See? See!

“I-” Aquarian stood, the red crawling over him like oil. Rorkannu flicked his fingers and a blast of energy hammered into Aquarian, hurling him backwards. He hit the ground, bounced, and then rolled off into the void, writhing in a pain that he did not need to feel, if only he would succumb to the love of-

“Stop…it,” he hissed.

“Ask Rorkannu nicely,” Rokannu said floating overhead. He lifted a claw. “It probably won’t do you much good though-”

The immense steel claw slammed into Rorkannu’s back, sending the Faltine flipping end over end. As he regained his bearings, he twisted, looking for his attacker.

He stared up-up-UP at the towering metal colossus that reared over him. A gigantic metal insect that snapped its pincers menacingly at the Faltine.

“Who…dares?” Rorkannu said, somewhat hesitantly.

“Who dares? Who dares? I dare, you occult annoyance! I-THE SCARLET BEETLE!” a voice roared through the speakers set into the machine’s carapace. A claw swooped forward, catching the Faltine around the middle.

“Oh,” Rorkannu said, even as the claw snapped him in half. The halves of the Faltine floated in different directions trailing blue flame. Rorkannu twisted his head, glaring at the metal titan.

“You are lucky that Dread Lord Rorkannu is in a forgiving mood, insect, or he would-”

“Silence bourgeoisie!” a different voice echoed through the speakers. A gruff rasp compared to the previous screech. “You are lucky that the People’s Party-”

“Get off of the intercom, brute!” the first voice said. “Your hairy monkey fingers might-”

“Share and share alike, comrade-”

“I am no one’s comrade! I am your master-”

“We of the People’s Party of Berlin have no masters, only brothers-”

“-off of my intercom!”

“Rorkannu feels that discretion is the better part of valor, when dealing with schizophrenic giant metal bugs,” Rorkannu said, pulling himself towards his lower half with powerful strokes of his arms.

Aquarian, for his part, had passed out, the chump. Personally, I thought he was made of sterner stuff, but if he’s just going to pass out at every little-hey, HEY!-

The mechanical insect gingerly extended a claw and scooped up Aquarian’s limp form.

“Careful comrade, careful. If this is the one causing those energy readings we registered-”

“I know, I know. Don’t you think I know, you cretinous primate?”

For his part, Aquarian could only lay semi-conscious and wholly unmoving in the grasp of his strange rescuer, the Star of Capistan glittering where it sprouted from his bare chest.

---

Somewhere else. Possibly California.

Bev opened her eyes and coughed. She could hear the sound of cars. Blinking, she stared up at the sunlight for a moment, then, with a sudden intake of breath, she sat up, the weight of the pistol in her hand.

The Mindless One looked down at her.

“Homina, homina, homina,” Bev said. The Mindless One didn’t move. Something tiny and crimson glittered in its shapeless skull. With a jerk, it reached down and pulled her gently to her feet.

“Oh-ho-kay, that’s a new twist on an old song.” She brushed her hair out of her face and cocked her head. “So…”

The Mindless One was silent.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Don’t talk much, hunh?”

Nada.

“Yeah. Look, I’m just going to head thataway,” Bev said, pointing towards the sounds of vehicles. “Maybe find a phone.” She looked at the Mindless One. It looked at her, unblinking. Bev shrugged and started walking.

The Mindless One followed.

Bev stopped. It stopped.

“You’re really just going to follow me, hunh?” she said. “Really?” She waited for an answer. When it was evident that none was forthcoming she sighed and started walking again. The Mindless One stumped after her, placid and unyielding.

“My life cannot possibly get weirder.”

---

Cleveland, again.

The crash was unpleasant. Howard slid aside, and popped to his feet. Shoulda grabbed a gun, he thought. A big one. Or a stick. One of those billy club things…

It wouldn’t have done any good. Brains, not brawn. He never thought he’d actually miss the rock, but his palms itched. He had to get out of here. Get to New York, find Strange, figure out what had happened to the kid.

Get back to Bev.

The Turnip screamed and Garko bounced, cursing the entire way. The Hellcow, stinking of rotten meat and curdled milk, was clawing up the Turnip’s back, gnawing at it’s throat.

“Away from me!” the Turnip shrieked, grabbing the caped cow-pire by its legs and hurling it aside. “Away!” Breathing heavily, the Turnip turned to glare at Howard. “You…I knew you were one of those he sent me to destroy.”

“He who?”

“And destroy you I will,” the Turnip continued, ignoring Howard’s question. “Destroy you with my mighty Turnip poweURHK-”

The Turnip crumpled. The White Rabbit tossed the fire extinguisher aside and set one dainty foot upon the unconscious creature’s back.

“New York, you said?” she said, one finger on her cheek. “Yes, yes, I do believe I could stand a bite of an apple of unusual size, Sir Fowl.”

“Wait, who said anything about-”

“Moooo,” the Hellcow said, trotting forward, red eyes glaring. Howard stepped back.

“Garko could not have said it better himself, bovine one.” Garko hopped forward, wicked teeth shining. “The only way you’re getting anywhere, is through us, duck.”