D.J. knocked on the door and waited for the barrage of clicks and snaps that preceded Larry opening the door to his place. He had seven locks, only one of which was accessible from outside. D.J. didn't know why Larry bothered. What was there to steal, dice? The door swung open with no peremptory clatter.

"Come on in," said Turk. "We're waiting for the big man."

"What, he's not here?" asked D.J. as he stepped through the door into Larry's eternally cluttered apartment. There was a noticeable absence of laundry, but the large dining room table was absolutely covered with paper, books, and dice. The room smelled cleaner, too, but that was probably due to the lack of unmentionables and soiled work shirts.

"Nope," said Burt Vaughn over his shoulder. "He's picking something up. Left us in charge of the place." Burt was playing some kind of ninja game on Larry's Playstation.

"What's this?" asked D.J.

"Tenchu, Stealth Assassin II," said Burt.

Turk watched the action on the television for a second and said, "There's a special weapon to your left."

D.J. asked Turk, "Picking what up? I brought food."

"So did Larry," said Turk, indicating the Gumby's pizza box on the coffee table.

"Then what the hell?" D.J. sat down on the threadbare couch next to Burt, who ignored him, his eyes fixed on the screen. "This better be important. We need to ransack the evil temple for loot."

"I wouldn't count on it," Turk said. "He had a look in his eyes. Something was up."

"And he wouldn't say what, either," Turk said, fishing around in the pizza box for a slice. He shook his head. "I think we're in for some more antics."

D.J. groaned. "Great."

"Where's the special weapon?" asked Burt, running his female ninja around the screen with wide-eyed intensity.

Turk peered at the screen for a second. "You missed it, go back to the right. Kill the guard. It's around there somewhere."

D.J. watched Burt play for a few minutes, unintentionally drawn into the game. "Why don't you just run over there and whack that guy?"

"No," said Burt. "The object of the game is to sneak up on the guards. If you want the title Grand Master Ninja and access to all of the cool ninja weapons. You can't combat-monster this game, or you won't get anything good."

"Larry owns this game?" said D.J., incredulous.

Burt shrugged. "Hey, people change."

"Ain't it the truth?" said Turk.

Ever since the now-legendary events of MagicCon 2000, where Larry terrorized the Radcliffe Hotel claiming to be Stercutus (and nearly getting himself arrested in the process, not to mention banned from the convention for life), Larry had become a different person. Larry's prodigious girth had mysteriously disappeared during the convention, along with a lot of Larry's more unpleasant personal habits.

His social behavior had changed the most since his rampage through MagicCon. Gone was the grunting, shy Larry who would only talk while binging on sugar. In his place was a new, more confident Larry. This Larry would stay out all night, doing god-knows-what. This Larry actually started lifting weights and taking care of himself. This Larry would actually approach women, even though it was usually to invite them to a role-playing game session. New body and attitude notwithstanding, there were some things that were stronger than Larry, like gaming.

He constantly surprised his friends, much to their chagrin. There was the time that Larry somehow managed to steal the Gumby's Pizza mascot and had it proudly displayed in his living room for game night. Or the time they were all ordered into his van with no explanation, driven to Pier 39, and stood shivering on the docks while Larry explained and acted out the big finale to their gaming scenario, which included Lovecraftian Deep Ones, and a pier not unlike the one they were standing on. Larry loved it. No one else did.

"You two need to relax," said Burt. "I still like the new Larry a lot better than the old Larry."

"Yeah, because you two can go cruising for chicks," said Turk, bitterly.

"Did you just say 'cruising for chicks'?" D.J. stared, open-mouthed. "What're you, Fonzie?"

"Hey, I got a blowgun!" crowed Burt.

"Great. Blow this," said Turk.

"You two are real sweethearts," said D.J. as he got up from the butt-eating couch. "Larry have anything to drink?"

"Mountain Dew or beer," said Turk.

"Ugh."

The door rattled, then burst open with a crash. "Goddammit, Turk, I could have been an axe murderer," yelled Larry as he strode into his own apartment. "Hey Deej," he said.

"What's this about no game tonight?" D.J. asked, flinching at the sight of Larry's fedora perched rakishly on his head. That fedora had been retired after MagicCon 2K, and if it was on Larry's head, then something was definitely up.

Larry raised his thick arms. "Don't get sore, this is very worth it."

Another man walked into the room, as tall and thin as Larry was broad and stocky. He was going bald, and his dark hair made a bird's nest around the smooth, shiny dome of his head. A thick black beard grew vigorously from his sideburns and covered his mouth completely. He wore black horn-rimmed glasses, a white short-sleeved dress shirt, and black slacks. This was, they all realized at once, an old gamer.

Larry was beaming. "Guys, this is Robert Rutlege. Robert, this is D.J., Turk, and Burt."

"Your name is familiar," D. J. said, stepping forward to shake hands.

"Well, it may be," he said in a wavering baritone, "I used to do artwork for Gamesmen, Ltd. in the early eighties."

"Oh, wow," said Turk, getting up out of his chair. "You're that Rutlege. Man, I loved your stuff as a kid! I have all the game modules you illustrated."

Rutlege grimaced. "Yeah, thanks, I suppose."

"Nice to meet you," said Burt, pausing his video game. "Are you joining the campaign?"

Larry smiled and jumped in. "No, we're not playing tonight. This is too important."

Turk and D.J. glanced at each other. Larry saying something was too important for game night?

Larry continued. "No, we're going to listen to Rob's story, and then we're going to decide on a course of action. So, everyone get comfortable. Rob, can I get you something?"

"Do you have coffee?" he asked.

Larry frowned. "Maybe," he said, shuffling into the kitchen.

D.J. sighed and took his place on the butt-eating couch. Rutlege started talking.