Four grim faces met, it was early morning and one
of their own had been abducted. Kidnapped, no
doubt, by one of the dreaded Whoser Losers. The
four men turned their gaze up as another entered
the room.

Clive strode into his office, papers in hand, also
wearing a very bleak expression. He looked down
at all four of them, each one in turn lowering their
head in shame. “Not only do we have an abduction
to worry about,” Clive began as he sat down
behind his desk, “But we are now one man short in
our operation, which can’t be carried out anyway,
given our circumstances.” He glared at his
agents.

Greg was about to speak when Clive continued.

“Would you like to know something else, agents?”
he slapped down the papers he was holding onto
the desk. It was a report of some kind, pictures
and audio transcriptions along with it. “Our
organization intercepted these documents. It
seems our unfunny friends were trying to fax this
information overseas.”

“What is it?” Ryan asked, leafing through some of
the papers.

“Our mission plan.” The four men looked at Clive,
astonished. “They tape recorded your private
meetings, your brainstorming sessions, everything.
They would have known we were coming, even if
they hadn’t taken Brad hostage.”

Greg stared in disbelief. It all made sense now;
The drug he had been injected with, the Whoser
Losers kidnapping Brad, they had known. He
relayed all of this to Clive, who nodded, almost
sympathetically.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” he said, shaking his head
a little. “But now on to the task at hand: How we
will rescue our agent, and destroy the Trinity of the
Unfunny.”

“It won’t be easy,” Colin spoke up, “Maybe we
should just storm their hideout at nightfall.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed, “Take them by force and
reclaim Brad.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ryan countered. “We
already know they have operatives working for
them on the outside, how many guards do you
think they have inside the compound?”

“He’s right,” Greg sighed, “It’s risky to ambush
them. On the other hand,” he adjusted his glasses
on his nose, “We don’t have much of a choice.”

*

Four men, clad in olive drab, crawled silently
through the thicket, night sounds filling their ears.
Ryan headed the group, navigating. He held a
compass in front of him, and kept an his ears open
in case of any suspicious sounds. He led them
through the relatively low brush, as the M-25 was
not a hundred yards to their right. They were fast
approaching the hideout of the Whoser Losers,
Ryan could feel it.

The ground beneath them suddenly felt different,
and Ryan stopped dead in his tracks. Colin,
unaware of Ryan’s discontinuation of the crawl,
kept on crawling and bumped hard into the other
man’s legs.

“Sorry,” Colin whispered, rubbing his head, “It’s
*really* dark out...”

“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Greg called softly,
catching up with the other two.

“Something isn’t right,” Ryan whispered back as
Tony joined them, “I hear something...” he put his
ear to the ground, invoking quizzical glances from
the others.

“What is it?” Colin asked, lowering his head to the
ground as well.

“It sounds almost like,” Ryan trailed off, straining to
listen, “Almost like a stream.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “A stream?” he said
doubtfully.

“The Lake of the Unfunny,” Tony said to himself.
Greg turned to look at him, as did Ryan and Colin.

“Exactly,” Ryan said, undeniably this is what he was
thinking as well. Keeping his ear near to the
grass, he continued to crawl on, following the
sound. Colin shrugged, and continued behind him.
Greg eventually did the same, Tony, once again,
taking up the back of the procession.

After what must have been an hour of traveling on
all fours, Ryan raised his head from the ground,
and looked ahead. A huge building loomed in front
of them, just a few more feet and they’d be there.
He looked behind him, making sure that all that
the rest of them saw that they were almost at the
compound of the Whoser Losers.

“Now that we’re here, how do we get in?” Greg
asked, rubbing the dirt from his knees, and
motioning toward the few night watchmen that
were situated at the front of the building.

“That should be easy enough with this,” Tony pulled
out from under his green shirt a small spherical
object.

“That wouldn’t be a remote control to a kamakazi
fighter jet, parked out on a hidden landing strip
behind the compound?” Ryan asked, taking the
sphere from Tony and examining it.

“No, it’s just a teargas grenade,” Tony answered.

“Alright,” Colin said, “Just light it and throw it then,
Ry.”

Before Ryan had the chance to ask for one, Greg
produced a lighter from his jacket pocket. “Here,”
he said as he tossed it to Ryan.

“Thanks,” he replied as he flicked the lighter, the
flame licking out from the base. He touched it to
the wick of the teargas-bomb, and quickly threw
the little bomb toward the entrance of the
compound. The guards noticed something being
thrown at them, and were about to advance
toward Ryan, Colin, Greg and Tony when the bomb
exploded. Each one clutched his eyes, screamed,
and began to run around like mad, looking for
water to flush out the irritant.

Ryan rose fully to his feet and made a dash for the
entrance, the rest of the guys following him. The
large wooden door was locked, but together they
easily broke it down, and continued running
through the darkened front hall. Ryan stopped,
and flicked the lighter on once again. He searched
for a light switch, and when he found one, he hit it
with his fist, hard. An overhead light reluctantly
sputtered to life, and flooded down upon them.

The sound of gurgling water was even louder here,
he realized. He noticed a staircase to his left.

“Think we should follow it?” Ryan asked as he
pointed to the stairs that seemingly lead farther
down inside the compound.

“Let’s go for it,” Greg said as he cracked his
knuckles, “That seems to be the mentality of the
night anyway, right?”

Ryan ignored his mild sarcasm and turned to
Colin, who looked up at Ryan with those big eyes of
his, and shrugged.

“I’m going,” Ryan asserted. Something in his gut
told him that Brad might be down those stairs,
and he didn’t care if the rest of them followed. It
was a risk he had to take.

As he made his way down the steep steps, he
realized that the guys *had* decided to follow him,
and now Greg was right behind him.

“What made you change your mind?” Ryan
inquired softly over his shoulder.

“I just had a feeling,” Greg replied.

“Hey, I think I hear something,” Colin called from
behind, and they were all silent. There was
*indeed* a noise, and although the water sound
was definitely louder, this was not what they were
straining to hear. It was of a human voice, and it
sounded quite like a pained groan.

“Oh God,” Greg said, “It’s Brad.” As he said those
words, he burst past Ryan, nearly knocking him
over as he skipped down the steps, eager to reach
the bottom, and, he hoped, Brad. Greg almost
tripped on the way, and skidded to a halt on the
last step. He waited until he heard another cry,
and moved on in the direction he felt it was coming
from. Ryan, Colin, and Tony were at his heels, just
barely keeping up with Greg’s frantic pace.

They all came to a standstill after turning a bend in
the basement. There was a man blocking their
path, he had his arms across his chest and he
was laughing menacingly. They recognized him at
once, and immediately were ready to defend
themselves.

“So you’ve come,” the unmistakably monotone
voice of Ron West came to them, what little light
had filtered into the basement now reflected by his
balding head, “And you want to rescue your
Braddie. How disgustingly cute.” From out of the
shadows stepped Debi Durst and Archie Hahn.

“You might outnumber us,” Ron continued, “But we
can kill your little bitch with the flip of a switch.”

“Arghhh I’m Popeye,” Debi added, to which
everyone simply stared.

Ron shot a nasty look at Archie. “I thought you
said the cyborg was operational,” he hissed.

“There are still some bugs, I can’t help it,” Archie
responded, on the defensive.

“Whatever,” Greg interjected, “Sorry to interrupt
your little flight of fancy, but I think there is some
major ass-kicking that is going to be administered
by us on you,” he darted quickly out towards the
Whoser Losers, and kicked Archie in the shin
before running back to his group.

“Damn you, Proops,” Archie said through gritted
teeth, as he started to make a rush at Greg.

Tony stuck out his foot, tripping him. Archie
landed flat on his face, and yelped in pain. Greg
grabbed him by the back of the collar, picking him
up, and then throwing him up against a wall.

“Are you ready to fight, woman?” Greg yelled, as
he hopped back and forth, holding his fists in the
fighting stance. Archie made a gurgling sound,
and collapsed back to the floor, apparently passed
out.

After witnessing the easy defeat of one third of the
Trinity of the Unfunny, Debi stepped forward.
“Arghh, me needs me spinach,” she cried as she
lunged for Colin. He almost dodged her attack,
when he realized he could simply stop her by
extending his hand out and catching her forehead
with his palm. He held her at bay, as she kept
trying to run foreward.

Ryan watched this with amusement before he
realized Ron West was still unscathed. He looked
up to where the last Whoser Loser had been
standing, and was shocked to see that he was
gone. He had fled in cowardice, no doubt.

Tony and Greg were at his side in a moment, and
Colin was occupied with a certain Popeye
impersonator, who was now thrashing wildly at
him, yet was coming up about a foot short of
actually hitting him.

Greg looked into the distance, and he could just
see the far wall of a room ahead. Weird, wavy
reflections danced on the wall. He pointed, and
Ryan nodded; they would venture further to see
what was in the room.

The cautiously strode forward, and instantly they
knew that this was the source of the two noises
they had been hearing: The human screams, and
the gurgling water. Greg started jogging as they
approached the entrance, and he was shocked,
yet somewhat relieved, by what he saw next.

Brad was on the other side of the room, chained
to the wall. He was suspended above the ground,
and he wore many silver studded shackles that
looked like they were borrowed from a medieval
torture chamber. Greg rushed to where his love
hung. As he got closer, he realized Brad was
barely conscious. His head lolled to one side, and
spittle dribbled from his open mouth. He was also
only wearing a leather thong, but Greg didn’t
notice that. He also didn’t notice where he was,
until he looked behind him. Ryan and Tony had
caught up with him, and they were staring across
the room at him.

Directly outward from the wall Greg was nearest
to, was a small body of water. A lake, really, which
had been casting the reflections and making the
sounds that had garnered their attention in the
first place. Once he understood all this, he turned
his gaze back to Brad, and started undoing all the
shackles to free him.

Once he had finished, Brad fell to the ground,
almost fully unconscious. Greg helped him to
stand, and he and Tony held him in the upright
position as they, for lack of a better way to
describe it, began to drag him out of the room.
Ryan simply stood, staring at the water. Greg,
Brad, and Tony were nearing the door when the
sound of sloshing water met their ears.

Ryan snapped out of his prolonged stare, and
instead focused on an object coming into view
across the water. It was someone in a rowboat,
and he figured he knew who that someone was.
Sure enough, as the figure came closer, he knew it
was Ron West.

“Bastard!” Tony called over the water.

“So you think you’ve won,” Ron called back, jumping
out of the boat and wading in toward Ryan, “Just
you wait,” he started running through the water,
as Greg and Tony hurriedly tried to get Brad out of
the way.

Once out of the room, the ran down the corridor in
the direction of Colin, who was *still* holding Debi
back. They laid Brad down on the ground, and
Tony ran back to help Ryan. Greg stayed with
Brad, stroking his head, and wiping the sweat and
dirt from his forehead. “Watch him for me,” he
said, and Colin nodded. Greg reluctantly left, and
went back to the Lake.

When he arrived in the room, Ron had Tony in a
choke hold and held a knife to his throat. Greg
gasped, and Ron looked up.

“Well look who it is,” he adjusted his grip on Tony,
“Lover boy’s come back to join us,” he grinned, and
moved the knife closer to Tony’s neck. Ryan looked
helplessly at Greg, not knowing what to do. If they
made any sudden moves, Tony would be killed. If
they didn’t act quickly, however, Brad could die out
in the hall.

As Greg went through the choices in his mind, a
loud bang came from the hall. It startled all of
them, Ron included. So much so, that he lost his
grip on Tony, and he escaped. The scent of
burning rubber and the sound of bending metal
soon followed, and Colin poked his head into the
room.

“I guess the cyborg had a few more bugs than you
thought,” he quipped, brushing stray scraps of
hardware from his clothes.

“Damn that Archie, I knew the cyborg would short
circuit without proper wiring,” Ron growled angrily.

“Well, well, well,” Ryan moved in closer to Ron,
“Look who has the upperhand now.”

“What are you going to do?” Ron mocked him,
“You don’t even have a weapon.”

“We have this,” Tony shouted, tossing an oar to
Ryan. Evidently, he had waded out to the rowboat
after he had freed himself from Ron, and had
grabbed one.

Ryan slapped Ron a few times with the oar.

“Hey, stop it,” Ron whined, trying to protect his
head from the blows.

“Stop what, huh?” Ryan asked, and slapped him a
few more times, “Make me.” He hit him harder
three more times, and Ron almost fell to the
ground. Blood dripped from his face, scattering
across the ground as he swaggered.

“I’ll do anything,” Ron gasped, “Just don’t kill me.”

“Why should I let you live?” Ryan asked as he
raised the oar to smack Ron another time. He
stopped the motion as Ron held up a remote
control-like object he had brought out from his
pocket. He fumbled with the small controller, and
pressed a button on it. Immediately, a whirring
noise began to sound throughout the compound.

“You’ll let me live, because you won’t have time to
kill me and save yourselves, not to mention your
dear Brad,” Ron regained his composure. “I just
activated the self-destruct mechanism of this
place.”

“I’d still do it,” Ryan sneered bitterly, “But I won’t if
you agree to one thing.”

Ron held his head in his hands, trying to cease the
bleeding. “Yes?”

“Never show your face in comedy again,” Ryan
shouted above the whirring of the self-destruct
alarm. Greg, Tony, Colin, and himself were almost
out of the room when Ron replied.

A weak “All right” came to them through the
pandemonium of noise. That was all the needed to
hear, and they all broke into a run, only stopping to
get Brad to his feet so they could get him out too.

*

::Flash Forward, the year is now 1997::


Greg sat in the living room of his recently
purchased Los Angeles home. He hadn’t
furnished it completely yet, as “Whose Line?”
tapings in Britain would soon start, yet he wanted
to get a feel for the place. It was good to be back
in California again, even though LA was still quite a
long way from his *own* Kansas... San Francisco.

It was about 8pm, prime-time in the world of
television. He flipped on the TV, and Brad came in
from the kitchen to join him.

“Hey Braddie,” Greg said happily, as the other man
sat next to him on the couch. He wrapped his
arms around Brad, cuddling him close. Brad
offered him some of the popcorn he had brought
from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Greg said as he shoved a handful in his
mouth. The two of them turned their gaze back to
the TV, where “3rd Rock From the Sun” was now
on. They watched without casualty until the
second commercial break ended.

On the screen, Dick Solomon was complaining
about his co-worker, Vincent Strudwick. As
Strudwick made his entrance, Greg stared in
disbelief, and Brad choked on his popcorn. At that
moment, the phone rang. Greg answered it, to
hear Ryan’s voice on the other end.

“It’s starting again,” was all Ryan said, while Ron
West paraded across the television screen. Greg
dropped the phone receiver. He didn’t want to believe
it....

----
END
----