Dawn seemed in good spirits as she all but skipped down the corridors of Slayer Central. She was attempting to shove a mostly empty box of theater-sized Jujubes into her jacket with limited success when she rounded a corner and came to a screeching halt.

The halls were completely empty, with most of the Junior Slayers either in bed or on patrol. But there was one lone figure standing in the near distance.

Faith.

Faith seemed nearly motionless, doing nothing but standing a foot or two away from a nondescript door that was just one of several identical doors in the hallway. She simply stood before the door. Staring at it. There was no motion to either enter the room or turn away.

It was with some confusion that Dawn watched Faith, until realization struck and her eyes grew wide. For a moment, Dawn's face fell, brimming over with empathy, but the sadness was rapidly replaced with anger and she stomped toward the Slayer.

"Someone else lives there now," Dawn announced in tone that was hostile and vaguely superior.

Startled, Faith's head whirled around to Dawn. It was difficult to tell if she was more surprised by the youngest Summers' presence, or the fact that she'd been so deep in thought she was able to be surprised at all.

With a toss of her hair, Dawn rolled her eyes at the door – or rather, the inhabitant within. "This new girl. Her name's Mary Elizabeth. She's okay. A little annoying and has this obsession with Billy Boyd and Dom Monaghan that's frankly terrifying ... but she's okay."

Faith appeared to be at a loss for words. "Oh. Well ... good for her."

"We cleared out the room about a week or so after we got back." The pause was weighty and deliberate. "Just before the funeral."

It seemed as though Faith winced a little at that, but she declined to reply. Instead, she took several steps away from the door. "Thanks for the info," she muttered, heading down the hall and away from Dawn.

"You should've been there."

Faith stopped, but didn't turn around.

Dawn shifted her weight to her other foot, still busy glaring accusatorily at the back of Faith's head. "I mean, you cared about her, right? God knows she cared about you." Receiving no immediate response, she repeated, "You should've gone to her funeral."

"Yeah." Faith's head and shoulders dropped a little, and she glanced vaguely in Dawn's direction. "Yeah, maybe."

Flinging her hand to the side, the teenager shook her head violently. "No 'maybe'! You were like her idol, Faith! She gave up everything for you – she died for you." Dawn's disgust was palpable. "And you can't be bothered to make it here to say goodbye?"

This time, Faith did turn around. "I said my goodbye,' she replied in a low, even voice.

"Sure," scoffed Dawn in that special tone she saved for adults she found particularly irritating, "and that's why you're standing here in the hall staring at her door."

"Well what was I supposed to say, huh?" the Slayer demanded. "'Thanks for getting yourself sucked into an evil bitch for me, oh but don't worry – I snapped her neck, so it's all good'."

"I don't know! I don't ..." Pulling her mental reins taut, Dawn fought to bring the rapidly escalating conversation back to a civilized level. "I just know she would've wanted you there. And if you cared so much, you would've been."

Faith tossed out her hand and let it slap on her thigh. "Yeah, well I wasn't. Pretty much says it all then, huh? So let's hear about it – same old Faith. That's what you're thinkin', right?" Faith took one deliberate step toward Dawn, and then another. "Says what she wants, does what she wants, kills who she wants." A dangerous smile slowly crossed the Slayer's face and she spread her arms wide. "And does it with a song."

The backward retreat was already in progress before Dawn realized what she was doing and put a stop to it. Even as she held her ground however, her discomfort was evident.

"What, scared'a little ol' me?" Faith continued to grin as she came to a halt only a few feet away.

Dawn lifted her chin defiantly. "N-No."

"Stutter really sells that, too."

"No," she repeated, much stronger this time. "Yes ... I don't know! Okay? You ..."

Faith waited for a second, but no conclusion to the sentence appeared to be forthcoming. "I what?" she prompted, her expression betraying nothing but amusement for the entire conversation.

"You killed Judith and- and ..." The force behind Dawn's accusation died away, leaving confusion in its wake. "And I don't know how to feel about that."

Upon hearing the confession, some of the cockiness ebbed out of Faith. She sought refuge in the pack of Marlboros she dug from her jacket. "Yeah, well ... join the club. Membership's free."

Dawn seemed hypnotized by the flame of the lighter as Faith lit up. "You can't smoke in here," she stated absently.

Twin streams of smoke propelled from Faith's nostrils as she snorted a laugh. "Seems pretty easy to me."

It wasn't a battle worth fighting, Dawn wisely let it drop for more important matters. "I thought when you got back you'd be all ... I dunno. 'Yay me' or something. All strutting and happy cuz you got your vengeance on."

"Me too," agreed Faith, blowing a plume of smoke high into the air. "Life's just one big surprise after another."

It was a puzzle that was plaguing Dawn as she struggled to figure things out. "But it's like ... I'm glad you stopped Judith, and I'm glad she paid for killing Hazel and Kelly and everybody else. She needed to pay." On this point, Dawn didn't seem to question.

Taking a long drag, Faith watched Dawn curiously, uncertain of where the girl was going with this line of thought.

"But the way it happened ..." Dawn shook her head, eyebrows closely knit together. "I dunno. It feels wrong."

An expectant silence ballooned between them, but it was one Faith didn't bother trying to fill.

When it seemed Dawn couldn't take it any more, she demanded, "Aren't you going to say something?"

"Like what?" Faith rejoined. "If you're wantin' some big breakdown, you're SOL, Sunshine. I did it. It's done. The end. I can't go back and not do it."

"But would you?"

Faith shrugged nonchalantly and dropped her cigarette to the floor. "The past is what it is." She ground out the embers under her boot heel, turned and strode down the hallway.

"Yeah, but if you could," Dawn called out to the Slayer's retreating back, "would you?"

Faith declined to answer as she walked away.

Buffy stood out like a well-dressed thumb, seated alone as she was amidst the throngs of Sunnydale High graduates. She didn't appear particularly upset by the isolation, but still she looked grateful as Angel placed a cup of punch on the table before her. The vampire's own smile was slightly nervous and uncomfortable as he slid into the adjacent chair. He had his own drink in-hand, but as he traced his finger around the rim, it seemed less for refreshment purposes and more for distraction.

"It's like old times, huh?" he asked. At Buffy's questioning look, Angel indicated the dance floor. "Willow and Oz ..."

Indeed, Willow and Oz were there, dancing to an upbeat song. Although they weren't so much dancing as in the vicinity of people whom were dancing. Dancing by proximity. The two redheads chatted as they didn't dance.

"...Xander and Cordy..."

Not too far away, Xander and Cordelia were actual-dancing to the music. It was a three-way however, with Tara making up the final third. Xander was clearly having a blast with one beautiful woman in each hand. He twisted them out, pulled them back, twirled them around, and seemed on top of the world.

Buffy watched the trio and grinned. "Though I think Xander's accompanying stud reputation is new."

As those words left Buffy's mouth, a group of guys walked past the dancers, including Mr. Flyin' Eagle. The man openly eyed Tara and Cordelia, then favored Xander with a very knowing, very approving look.

"...and then there's us," Angel concluded.

"Us?"

Angel nodded, indicating their surroundings. "Here, on the sidelines. Brooding."

"I don't brood. You brood. I pout." She considered Angel for a moment. "And you pout also."

"I don't pout," an indignant and defensive Angel shot back.

The Slayer heartily disagreed. "You totally pout."

The accusation wasn't being taken well. "I'm 250-years old, I—"

"—have had plenty of time to perfect your pout," Buffy interrupted. She surveyed Angel's expression approvingly. "It's very good. Almost rivaling mine. I'd say if they had a King and Queen of Pout, we would be they."

Although still scowling, Angel let it drop. "And anyway, I’m not pouting."

"Me neither. I'm ... reflecting."

On this, vampire and Slayer seemed to reach an agreement. "Yeah. There's something about coming back to all this. The people, the memories." Angel's eyes drifted to the ceiling. "The really tacky colors."

Buffy absorbed the atmosphere of the room with some amazement. "It just all feels like a lifetime ago ... I guess for me that's literally the case." Shaking her head free of those thoughts, Buffy continued. "We've been saying all night how we were different people then, how the things we saw and did just don't matter any more."

Glancing over, Buffy found Angel's intense eyes boring into her. "Do you think that's true? That none of it matters?" There was an odd tone to his voice that was difficult to describe.

"No," she replied. "I don't. I really don't."

"We're working through different sites, looking at new distribution," Oz was explaining to a thoroughly engrossed Willow. "iTunes, Garage Band, mp3.com. It's sort of like being a real band, only without the fame or money or recording contract. It's this whole big thing."

Willow grinned and took on a lofty tone. "Well personally I can't wait to be watching the Grammys one day at a swanky bar, sipping my fruit-ladden alcoholic beverage, and when you win I can say, 'I know him!' and immediately become the most important person in the whole place."

"Swanky?" questioned Oz doubtfully. "I'm thinking dapper."

"So long as it involves Important Me, I'm in."

"We can but hope."

Inhaling deeply, Willow lifted upon her tiptoes and took everything in – the people, the decorations, the excited chatter. "So, all this, huh? It's just ... wow."

Oz nodded his agreement. "There is a certain wowness."

"It's just so weird." With a wondering shake of her head, Willow allowed herself a brief moment of reverie, then she leaned toward Oz conspiratorially. "You know, I used to imagine our high school reunion. While still in high school, which was probably jumping the gun a little bit, but."

He didn't say anything, but there was no doubting that Willow had Oz's full attention.

"We'd be married for one, maybe two years," she narrated, "since we'd both be responsible adults and wait until near the end of college."

"Was the wedding nice?"

An enthusiastic nod said it all. "The wedding was the best. All our friends were there, and my parents had finally gotten over the fact that their little girl wasn't marrying a nice Jewish boy. There were hugs and presents, and bubbles instead of rice because I read somewhere that rice hurts birds. Though I think that's an urban legend." She shrugged. "But why take chances?"

"Exactly," concurred Oz, expression completely serious. "We might incur the wrath of a thousand angry sparrows."

"And who needs that on their wedding day?" Willow responded with an exasperated roll of her eyes. The detour was brief however, and she quickly got back on track. "As cool as the fifth reunion is, though? The tenth absolutely kicks it butt."

Holding aloft an indescribable appetizer, Oz asked, "Better catering?"

"We bring the kids."

Oz didn't even try to repress his smile.

"Our oldest son—"

"Fillmore."

The seriousness of Willow's story was utterly shattered as she began to laugh. Her nose wrinkled like she'd just tasted something well past its expiration date. "Filmore?" she repeated incredulously, to which Oz only nodded with a small grin. Shaking her head in disbelief, Willow continued. "Okay, our oldest son Fillmore – who will entirely hate us when he grows up – is four. Our little girl—"

"Madeline," he immediately named.

This choice seemed to sit better. "—is two. And they are beautiful and charming and we spend a delightful evening of showing them off and making everyone so jealous." Willow lifted her chin with pride, her vision complete.

"I like it," Oz noted approvingly. "Two thumbs up."

Willow beamed and swung her shoulders back and forth in delight. "Funny isn't it?" she mused aloud. "The twists and turns. You can be so sure where your life will take you – more sure of it than anything else in your whole life. So you go along, skipping down the road, la la la. Then suddenly you're there and it's like, 'Hey, hold on just a darned minute! This isn't where the map said I'd end up!'"

Oz gave the matter due consideration. "But it's right," he decided.

"But it's completely right," she agreed.

Another subdued smile crossed the werewolf's features. "I know just what you mean."

Willow echoed it. "I know you do."

"And just think of all the pain and trauma we're saving poor Fillmore," Oz added, eliciting more laugher from Willow.

Angel drummed his thumbs together in a rhythm that in no way resembled that of the music being played. "Despite everything, huh?"

"Wouldn't change any of it," Buffy resolutely confirmed. "Well, except maybe getting dumped in a sewer. Although on reflection, I guess it was pretty appropriate."

"I think about it sometimes," Angel reflected. At Buffy's look, he hastened to amend, "Not just the sewer thing – all of it. You live as long as I have, and the years just sorta start blending. But my time in Sunnydale ... It's like I remember nothing and everything."

Buffy seemed content to remain philosophical about it. Stretching her arms over her head, she leaned back in her chair. "I guess that's high school for you. One big blobby mess where you remember every excruciating detail. I'm glad we have reunions to remind us that we can't ever escape."

The corner of Angel's mouth twitched upward in amusement. "That's probably not exactly the point."

"No, I mean that's a good thing," she clarified. "All the stuff that happens in the past, the good and the bad ... it makes you who you are. Shapes you. Without it, we're just existing from one moment to the next." Leaning forward again, Buffy rested her elbows on the table and began to swirl her punch in the plastic cup. "Without a past, I guess there can't be a future either. There's just the now. And I dunno, I guess I like being able to put it all in perspective."

Angel nodded appreciatively "Nicely put."

"Thank you."

"And sort of meanderingly put."

"Well I'm older now," the Slayer dismissed. "I know more words. It seems a shame not to use them."

To this, Buffy lifted her cup in toast.

"To old times," she declared.

Raising his drink also, Angel added, "To new times."

The plastic tapping together didn't carry quite the same ring as fine crystal, but the effect was much the same, and they both seemed satisfied with the sentiment as they drained their punch. Then Angel slid a napkin toward Buffy; she looked down to see an Oreo resting on the paper.

"Cookie?" he offered innocently.

Buffy grinned widely, but didn't get the chance to respond as the song came to an end and the crowd began to applaud. Harmony stepped onto the stage, and another of the organizers wheeled a slide projector into position. He set to work, making sure the projector was pointed at a nearby patch of blank wall, while Harmony reached for the microphone and switched it on. The chatter in the room wound down to a low, anticipatory buzz.

"Hi everyone!" Harmony greeted with much gusto. "Welcome back, Class of '99!"

On cue, the first slide was projected onto the wall, showing a picture of the original Sunnydale High with "Class of '99" over the hallowed halls. The room erupted into cheers, and the crowds began to disperse to the surrounding tables. The Scoobies did the same, making their way to Buffy and Angel and claiming the remaining seats.

Cordelia slid next to Angel, opening glaring a the blonde on stage. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I make it crystal clear that if she set foot in LA again, I'd stake the heck outta her?"

"You did," Angel acknowledged. "But she's actually been back for a little while now. Applied for a job at Wolfram & Hart and everything."

"She did what?"

"I didn't hire her, though," he assured. "There was some sort of trouble with her references. I think she ate them."

Oblivious, Harmony's presentation continued. "...reunite them here, on-stage. Well, not the president and stuff since they're all dead—" The projector clicked to a slide of the four officers, all with big red 'X's over their faces. "—but some of the Favorites are still alive, and yay for them!"

It was an odd speech, so when Harmony clapped, it was with some confused reluctance that anybody joined in. Their weak participation was more than sufficient for Harmony however, and she nodded to Projector Guy. The next slide that appeared announced "Class Clown", and came complete with a little clip art clown that was laughing uproariously.

"First up, our Class Clown ..." The slide clicked to the next, and now underneath the "Class Clown" title was a smiling, cheeky face. "Jack Mayhew!" cried Harmony. "Where are you, Jack?"

This was something the crowd could get behind, and they applauded wildly. Heads swiveled in all directions, searching for the individual in question. After a moment a figure stood up, and the cheering increased. Very sluggishly, the figure dragged himself toward the stage, where Harmony stood leading the applause. It was all very game show.

"This is such a farce," Xander spat venomously. "Class Favorites. Please. He's not my favorite. I didn't vote for him."

Willow turned to Xander with a knowing smile. "Still bitter, huh?"

"Just a tad."

The man of the moment finally reached the top step and Harmony was the first to greet him. "Welcome back, Jack!"

Harmony thrust the microphone at Jack, and the audience quieted. Jack stared at the microphone, blinking slowly, and then leaned far too close toward it.

"Hi."

That was all he had to say.

The wide grin plastered on Harmony's face never wavered. "So Jack," she began, wanting to move things along smoothly, "it's been five years – what's the big new news with you? Still cracking everybody up, I bet!"

Again the microphone was shoved toward Jack, and much like the first time, it was followed by a blank pause. Jack blinked, then repeated his earlier action of leaning too close. His voice was loud and slightly muffled as the speakers echoed his words of wisdom.

"I take Zoloft now."

Nobody said anything, and they weren't particularly comfortable about it. For the first time, a crack appeared in Harmony's façade, but she quickly epoxy'd over it. Tugging the microphone back to home, the vampire seemed determined to remain positive. "That's ... That's grea—"

With a sudden burst of speed onlookers would've sworn he couldn't possibly possess, Jack leaned into the microphone again before it could entirely depart. "And Paxil. And maybe Effexor starting next month." He blinked slow eyes at the crowd. "They have to wait for my blood work to come back."

Speech having apparently draining him, the subdued man had nothing further to contribute.

"Good for you!" Harmony enthused. With a flourish of her hands, she presented him to the room. "Our Class Clown – Jack Mayhew!"

The audience applauded weakly as Harmony motioned Jack to stand behind her, which he did with an apathetic shuffle. The blonde nodded to Projector Guy, and the slide clicked over to the words "Class Flirt".

"Next ..." she continued.

Xander shook his head ruefully. "The pressure of a title is simply too much for lesser Clowns to bear. Shame."

"...died at graduation," Harmony concluded. The next slide clicked into place, displaying a new title and a new face. "Larry Blaisdale," she announced passionately, "voted 'Most Athletic' by you, the Class of '99!"

The crowd applauded. There was a click as the next slide dropped into place. A big red 'X' appeared over Larry's face.

"He died at graduation too."

The applause joined him with a quick but painful death.

Harmony didn't seem to notice, completely on a roll and unwilling to stop for anything. "'Most Popular' ... Michelle Blake!"

There was a briefest of communal hesitations, but when a figure leapt out of her seat and began to run toward the stage, the crowd eagerly celebrated the reminder that some of them managed to make it out of high school alive.

Cordelia wasn't quite so supportive. "You bought those votes, and you know it!" she all but yelled. More subdued, but just as angry, she grumbled, "That title should've been mine."

"Popularity," Oz sympathized. "Rough gig."

"You have no idea the work involved," Cordy agreed, tossing her hair over one shoulder imperiously.

Turning away from the animated bubbling of the woman on-stage, Tara looked to Cordelia with a puzzled frown. "She actually paid people to vote for her?"

The brunette scoffed, dismissing Michelle Blake and all she stood for. "Oh totally – with one currency or another. Those who can't," Cordelia philosophized pragmatically, "buy from those who can."

Grinning widely, Willow seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the presentation, despite the constant thread of morbidity. "You know, this is—" She stopped short, her expression morphing as bone-chilling horror slowly dawned. "Oh god, I'm not gonna have to go up there, am I?"

"...Willow Rosenberg!" Harmony called out, right on cue.

"Oh god!"

Xander considered his best friend with disappointment. "And you just now figured that out? You failed in your duties as 'Most Intelligent', Will. We're gonna have to crown your runner up."

But Willow had far greater concerns on her mind, and seemed mere moments from bolting from the room like a frightened bunny. Having received no word that Willow Rosenberg was another mark in the 'dead' column, the crowd was being optimistic and scanning for her.

Harmony too was on the lookout. "Willow? I know you're here ..."

If Willow had claws, they would've sunk deep into the table. As it was, they simply curled impotently on the surface. "No! I-I can't! Going in front of ..."

She looked to Xander for assistance. The casual way his chin rested on his fist didn’t seem particularly helpful.

"With the ..."

Willow anxiously spun to Buffy. The Slayer was clearly amused by watching the redhead fall apart before her very eyes, and seemed disinclined to offer aid.

"Bad!"

Finally, Willow faced her infallible salvation, certain that not only would she find protection, but a legion of angry troops ready to do battle and reclaim her very nearly besmirched humility. But her infallible salvation wasn't paying attention.

The totality of Tara's focus was riveted to the wall where, far larger than life, the projected image of a young Willow stared back worriedly. "That is simply ... adorable," murmured Tara, unable to look away.

"Oh just go," Cordelia ordered the redhead with a wave of her hand. "Enjoy your ten seconds of renewed fame."

Oz lifted his eyebrows toward the stage. "Besides, Harmony's spotted you. I think you're about to be forcibly relocated."

"You know the faster you go up there ..." Buffy advised.

Willow clenched her eyes tight. "I hate reunions."

With a deep, steeling breath, Willow got to her feet amidst now thunderous applause. She all but ran toward the stage in a desperate bid to escape the attention.

"Willow!" enthused Harmony. "So what have you—"

"Hi. Nothing. Bye."

She didn't wait for any more questions. Willow immediately took her place at the end of the line behind Harmony, content to stare at her shoes and try with all of her might to stop her face from burning. As Harmony continued to chatter away to the rest of the gathering, Willow became aware of someone staring at her. She glanced to her left and beheld the familiar face of Nancy Doyle.

"Hey," came the curt greeting.

Willow shuffled uncomfortably, still feeling the aftereffects of her rush on stage. "Hey."

"So here we are," Nancy commenced, her eyes never leaving the redhead. "You, 'Most Intelligent'. Me, 'Most Likely to Succeed'."

Cautiously, Willow nodded just the once. "Looks that way."

"I was up for 'Most Intelligent' too, you know."

"Oh." Willow seemed unsure of what else she was supposed to say to that. "No. I don't really remember."

"I was," assured Nancy. "I lost though. I mean obviously, since here you are."

Perhaps an apology was in order. "Uhm, sorry? But I mean, who really cares, right? About a stupid vote from five years ago ..." Willow's voice trailed off as she noted Nancy's completely unchanged, deadly serious expression. "...except you clearly do. Of course."

"It was close, though," Nancy insisted, quick and defensive.

"I'm sure."

The two lapsed into a brief but awkward silence, filled with the background noise of Harmony's endless prattle.

When she couldn't take it any more, Nancy informed Willow, "I just got a promotion. Vice-chairperson for our division. The youngest in the company's history."

Willow tried to be supportive while simultaneously being unable to hide the fact that she would rather be soaking in a vat of boiling liquid cheese than having this conversation. "Well ... good. Good for you."

"What about you? What's the biggest thing you've done these past few years?"

"Oh, uh, not too much. Just, you know ..." She shrugged. "School. Some stuff with my friends."

A satisfied smirk spread across Nancy's features and she nodded her head. "I figured as much," she sighed contentedly.

Willow narrowed her eyes. "Of course there was that bit where I nearly destroyed the whole world, I guess that was on the big side."

Nancy's head whipped around to regard the witch in disbelief. She peered at Willow, thinking maybe she must have misunderstood. She hadn't. What's more, taking in the redhead's unwavering stare, Nancy believed her.

Incensed at being trumped, Nancy turned away with a huff. "I could've done that," she growled to herself.

Meanwhile, Harmony continued the presentation. "Our 'Class Protector', Buffy Summers!"

The by-now familiar click of the projector heralded the appearance of the next slide. Contrary to expectations, there was no smiling photograph of Buffy, but rather a nondescript shadowy head-and-shoulders emblazoned with the words "Photo Not Available". Buffy leveled a killing glare at Cordelia.

Cordy rolled her eyes. "It was years ago, get over it."

Allowing her glare to linger a moment longer for good measure, Buffy made her way up on stage. Now all smiles, she waved to the applauding crowd. "Hi guys."

Harmony was still locked in game show mode. "I'd ask you what you've been doing," she explained brightly, "but it's probably really gross, and nobody wants to hear about it!"

Buffy's mouth had been poised and ready to deliver what was undoubtedly a warm and witty, yet concise and poignant recount of the past five years in Buffyland. Denied that opportunity, she could only stand and watch, jaw slack, as Harmony completely ignored Buffy's presence and addressed her captive audience.

"And now, the guy in charge of this reunion, the man responsible for bringing us all here tonight and making this the best Sunnydale High Class of '99 five-year reunion ever – except he had nothing to do with the banners in the lobby, those were mine ..." A furrow appeared on Harmony's features, and her energetic introduction began to fade weakly. "Uhm, the guy in charge ..." It was no good, the name simply wouldn't come to her.

She peered down at Projector Guy, questioning him to fill in the blank, but he could only shake his head and shrug in response. Harmony cast her eyes to the ceiling, as though the balloons suspended there might helpfully align themselves and reveal the name. "Ohh, what is it?" she wondered aloud. "It's on the tip of my tongue ..."

Off to the side, near the currently abandoned DJ equipment, came a prompting hiss.

Harmony didn't get it. "What?" The hissing repeated itself, sounding more annoyed this time. "Look, you need to stop mumbling," the vampire instructed. "Cuz I have really good hearing, and I don't—"

Unable to suffer the indignity a moment longer, a man burst onto the stage and all but ripped the microphone away from Harmony. If ever there was a specimen of humankind that could be labeled as "average", it was this man. Average height, average build, with unremarkably short and averagely brown hair. Even his clothing was average, being drab and entirely forgettable.

"Slone!" he spat, thoroughly aggravated. "Richard Slontowski."

Harmony nodded, her million-dollar smile making a repeat performance. "Oh right, right! Him!" She turned to the crowd. "Everyone give it up for ..." The name was gone again. "...him!"

Under Harmony's prompting, the gathering applauded politely. Slone visibly puffed under the attention, soaking it up eagerly and discarding his anger. As Harmony slipped back to join the row of favorites, Slone claimed center stage.

"Thanks. Thank you, Harmony. Well!" It was clear that Slone wasn't a particularly engaging public speaker, and although he currently held the crowd's attention, it seemed tenuous at best. "So ... So here we are. All of us, together again. I've been ..." He shook his head in wonder. "It's been a long time. A really long time. I've thought about this night, over and over. Just waiting for the chance to come back and see you all again."

Slone had begun pacing back and forth on stage, doing a reasonable impression of a motivational speaker, only without the motivational part. "I waited and waited, and when 2004 came and went without news of the reunion, I knew it wouldn't happen. Not without one of us stepping up to the plate."

Coming to a halt, he faced his old classmates. "And it's what we needed, you know? What we deserved. A chance to revisit those glory days. To look around and take stock of our lives, five years later. Someone had to do it, and so that's what I did. For you, for me. For us."

The delivery may have left something to be desired, but the audience was able to find something worthwhile in the message. They began to applaud once more, but their approval was brought to an abrupt end by the deafening sound of all the doors in the convention room slamming shut.

Confusion was the first order of business, as heads began to turn toward the two sets of fire exit doors on either side of the stage, and the two sets that led toward the lobby. Nervous murmuring filled the air, soon punctuated by screams as the audience caught their first glimpse of the new arrivals.

Before each of the four doors now towered a demon – huge, hulking masses of rough stone granite. Their faces were frozen in terrifying snarls of rage and hatred. It was as though someone had animated the gargoyles that sat perched on the gates of Hell and injected them with a few liters of steroids. Panic began to rise in the crowds as they scanned in vain for any sort of escape route and found none. Still the gargoyles didn't move, content for the moment to simply guard.

On stage, Slone smiled.

"But mostly for me."