PART 711

In which Marilyn lights a symbolic cigarette and takes stock of the shambles left after the Beasts ceased howling. Perhaps there is light on the quasi-horizon, she muses, but the inter-dimension continuum is such a fucked up mess after all that’s been inflicted on it. The frag-snappers have done their worst, the pseudo-Lords have been acting with total irresponsibility. Slan has woken, and the Old Dark Gods are only kept from running loose and wreaking the ultimate havoc by the most flimsy of virtual membranes. “Oh dear,” she murmurs, quietly exhaling, “but how is one over-worked twentieth century blonde goddess supposed to cope with it all?” And then she smiles, "But the light really is on the horizon, isn't it?"