And Nancy sighs, realizing that it was her own taste for it, or at least curiosity about that dark, sick world, which had led her to join the Club, Buck's nebulous title for the membership of the Castle.

And it was Cynthia, coming along as her guest, which was the beginning of their adventures with, or more accurately, against Randy Buck.

So that, indirectly, she supposes that she is responsible for all that followed, dangerous and, to her at least, terrifying adventures, as Cynthia battled with Buck.

She views herself as his nemesis, obviously.

Equally obviously, since, whatever else Buck may be, he is certainly not stupid, he must view himself as her nemesis.

So that today, they are undoubtedly both biding their time, each thinking of ways in which to destroy the other, their mutual safety lying in the self evident fact that neither of their plans have gelled, at least to the point of beginning implementation.

"Hello."

And Vanessa, tall, broad-shouldered, looking every bit as big as she is in the blue blazer with brass buttons of the security staff of Marvel Industries, calves bulging below the short, matching skirt and above the high heels, strides up to the desk, nodding to Nancy en passant.

"Ah, Vanessa!

"Sit down, sit down!

"The subject, this morning, is Randy Buck."

Vanessa says nothing, seated at attention in the chair opposite Cynthia, at an angle so that she can also take in Nancy.

She waits for additional information.

"What," Cynthia continues, "is he up to these days?"

"Something," Vanessa replies.

And this is not a trivial answer.

Because it is something, as opposed to nothing.

It is a statement of opinion which has the effect of elevating a similarly held opinion on Cynthia's part to the status of fact.

"I agree. Something.

"And we were wrong, you know, Vanessa, in not having him tailed every second, from the minute we rescued Nancy."