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“Now then,” she panted, casually tossing aside what remained of the wooden dais, “just one more and I'll have gotten the complete set.”

She turned around to see the last remaining Nerd disappear down an open trapdoor in the stage floor towards the rear of the stage. It seemed that the man had discovered one of the secret passageways leading out of the building for the exclusive use of celebrities and star performers wishing to avoid the fuss and unwanted attention of rabid fans and paparazzis alike.

“What the--!?” Mallet Girl exclaimed in surprise. She was quick to recover however and drew yet another one of her wooden mallets from her back. “Hey! Come back here you! I said come back here! Oooh! Bond Nerd, I challenge you! You hear me? Hey!”

But the Bond Nerd was not listening. He had been shown the path to salvation, the way out of this horrible nightmare. He was not about to stop for anything.

He was the complete opposite of the super spy he adored and admired so much. A gaunt-looking, nervous little man, he was completely devoid of the suave, calculating deameanor of Agent 007. Why, he couldn't even pull off the legendary character's signature statement properly, not even if his own life depended on it.

Down the narrow staircase the terrified, little Nerd stumbled and into the dimly-lit corridor below. It was narrow, just as a little wider than the staircase, but it mattered little to the poor Bond Nerd. He just kept on running and running with nary a pause or thought as to where the dark corridor was leading to, visions of the rampaging devil woman nipping at his heels lending wings to his faltering feet and legs.

The corridor was long and winding but finally he found himself clambering up the short staircase at the end of it. He threw open the door and fell into a deserted alleyway, several buildings away from the veritable hellhole that had been Building 85. He was out at last and bathing in the fading light of setting sun.

But still he was not away far enough. Escape still remained but an elusive dream for he could still hear her calling out to him, calling out his name. Oh, that voice! That horrible, nightmarish voice! Not unlike the sound made by a tin can slowly being crushed but intensified a hundredfold. He would remember that voice for the rest of his life, such as it was.

“Come back here, Bond Nerd! Face your beating like a man!”

Shrieking in abject terror, he scrambled to his feet in all desperation. He ran and he ran and he ran, crashing into many a trash can, sidewalk sign, and occasional mime. Past shops and stores he fled. Past startled pedestrians who stared at him in wonder, completely oblivious to his plight.

Everything appeared distorted to his fevered mind. The people. The cars and buses. The neon signs. The fiberglass mascots standing in front of the shops. Everything, even the most mundane of objects, appeared to be dark and twisted versions of themselves, all seeking to put an end to his sorry, miserable existence.

“No!” he cried out. “Keep away! Oh, Jesus! Oh, sweet Moneypenny, save me!”

And so he continued running. And run he did until he could run no more, collapsing in a heap in a dark alley, sobbing and gasping for breath.

He lay there on the filth-ridden, slime-covered concrete, shivering and crying. With trembling hands, he covered his face as though to shield himself from the horrors, both real and imagined, but mostly imagined, that were besetting him.

It took him a while to recover, to regain enough composure and courage as to lift his head and look about him. And when he finally did, he found himself in the middle of a dark, deserted alleyway, the cold night air heavy with the stench of rotting garbage emanating from the dumpster nearby. Yeah, it was already evening. He must have been running for more than a couple of hours. Quite a feat indeed considering he was neither athletic nor possessed of a robust constitution; he had never ran even a fraction of a mile in his entire life.

But this amazing achievement was lost upon him for so concerned was he with his own safety, both physically and mentally. He looked here and there, left and right several times just to make doubly sure, until he finally allowed himself a sigh of relief. That woman was nowhere to be seen. He had succeeded in losing that monster and he was safe at last.

Slowly, he made his way out of the alley, shoulders slumped, head bowed, for though a great weight had just been lifted off him, he found himself at the very brink of exhaustion. He considered calling the cops, going to the precinct even. But then, he paused, if he did go to the police, that woman might take it as a personal affront; he could only imagine the vengeance she would exact upon him then.

The poor Bond Nerd shuddered.

She may only have been cosplaying Mallet Girl but she was still quite the formidable force to reckon with. No doubt the cops will be hardpressed indeed to bring her in. Why, they might even have to call in the real Mallet Girl to deal with her. If only she hadn't been so crazy, she would have been perfect to play Mallet Girl.

He noticed a diner to his right. “PAPAYA-RAMA-LAMA” the sign above the door said in bright red, orange, and yellow neon lights.

His stomach growled as if in response.

Perhaps a little bite to eat was just the thing he needed to help soothe his frazzled nerves and clear his head? Yes, a bite to eat. Oh, and a smoothie. He was parched. He'll make up his mind after eating on whether or not he should report the incident.

And so the Bond Nerd entered the Papaya-Rama-Lama Diner.

A small bell rang as he opened the door. Looking around, he saw that all the booths were occupied and he had no choice but to take seat by the counter. He waved at the waitress behind the counter as soon as he was seated. “Um, excuse me.”

The girl's back was toward him. His eyes widened as she turned around and greeted him with a perky smile.

“I'll be right there,” she replied. She refilled one of the cups on the counter with coffee. “Think fast, Gramps!” she then cried out as she gave the cup and saucer a quick push, sending them sliding fast towards the far end of the counter. Without waiting to see if the old seated at the far end caught the cup and saucer or not, she returned the carafe to the coffeemaker and then turned and stepped toward the Bond Nerd.