Something something end of the world.

I understand that some of you probably will guess the mystery third crossover while reading this. I ask you not to reveal it in the comments, as I want to keep it a surprise for those who don't, as well as upholding suspense for those who do not know about the third thing I'm crossing over here. Thank you.

Prologue

As per our recent conversation on this matter [Roswell], you are hereby authorised to proceed with all due speed and caution upon your undertaking. Hereafter this matter shall be referred to only as Operation Majestic Twelve.

- President Harry S Truman; memo to SECDEF James V. Forrestal, September 24 1947

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

- Proverb.

The beginning of the end of the world began one perfectly ordinary July evening, and passed by unnoticed by the vast majority of the Earth's people.

Like most disasters, it began with the very best of intentions – but shadowy forces were at large, determined to twist a simple quest for reunion and forgiveness into a grand, terrible climax to a long game. Men and women of twisted intellect worked as pawns for forces beyond mortal understanding; each fighting a secret war for control of the human race.

It was a long and complex story, one that stretched back into the mists of time. But it is not my story. My story is far simpler. My story is a tale of betrayal, a story of conspiracy, and most of all a story of heartache. It is a story about how a small, idealistic team crumbled and fell.

My story begins on that July evening, in a mansion in the richer quarter of Amity Park, Illinois. I know it's a cliché to say so, but it was a dark and stormy night...

Vlad Masters sat at his desk in his study, looking over a taxation bill that was to be debated the following day in the city council. Outside, rain pattered against his window, and the soft distant sound of thunder provided ambiance to his dreary task.

"...which would therefore lead to revenue increase of two point blah blah blah percent, yadda yadda," sighed Vlad, "Can somebody tell me why I didn't delegate this? Ugh!"

Life had been pretty dull for the Mayor over the past months. Repairs were still underway after the battle with the Warlord – most of the Government's resources were being sent to Manhattan rather than Amity Park – and the failure of the ghost portals had brought ectoplasmic activity in the city down by fifty percent. Both Danny and his parents now resided in the Ghost Zone, which gave him an annoying lack of adversaries. Even his work on the Syndicate hadn't been that stimulating – despite getting Queen Vexus on board, opportunities to get things done were few and far between.

It was all so very boring.

Suddenly, Vlad's thoughts were interrupted by a faint tapping on his desk.

A small meter sitting on his desk was starting to rattle, the needle vibrating rapidly. Vlad's eyes widened.

"It's time," he breathed.

He leapt out of his chair, racing out the door of his study and down the hall. He tore his phone from his suit pocket and speed-dialled a number.

"Professor, this is Plasmius," he said, "It's happening."

He darted down a stairwell and onto the ground floor, shooting off down another corridor.

"You know what I'm talking about!" shouted Vlad, "It's time, Professor! The old man finally done it! If you don't believe me, check Channel Zero-Fifteen! They'll be noticing any second now!"

He shoved a bookcase aside, revealing a tunnel descending down into darkness. A faint blue light could be seen blinking at the bottom.

"How long?" said Vlad, "Probably forty-five seconds now. I'm heading into the lab. Did you put zero-fifteen...thank you."

A third voice could now be heard on the phone as Vlad raced down the tunnel.

"...pursuing suspect southbound, requesting backup, over..."

Vlad turned a corner at the end of the tunnel, entering a laboratory. His ghost portal, dormant since the Warlord incident, was powering up – the swirling vortex inside was blue. As he stepped into the lab, he felt the gravity becoming distinctly lighter – lab equipment on tables was beginning to float upwards.

The radio channel suddenly erupted into panic.

"Holy mother of...this is eleven-king, something is happening, we have a class five event in progress! I repeat, class five..."

Vlad smirked as he listened to the Professor's reply.

"Of course the Feds are panicking, Professor, they don't understand what's happening," he replied, watching the vortex get bigger and bigger, "But we do."

His expression darkened as the Professor replied.

"We'll cross MJ-12's bridge later," he said, "Don't worry about it."

The portal began to roar. Vlad smiled and raised his wrist, fiddling with his watch. He scarcely seemed to notice his feet lifting off the ground.

"Set your watch, Professor," he said, "It's zero hour."

The portal began to turn white, the light becoming brighter and brighter.

"Everything is about to change," said Vlad.

There was a thunderous screech and everything went white.

"...is Jonah Thompson, CIA Temporal Division. Anybody mind telling me what just happened?"

"This is R.E.R.E., Major Richardson speaking. Can't tell you anything, mate. Colonel's being pretty coy about this."

"Understood. Has anybody checked with Coulson? Might wanna get SHIELD in on this. Also, maybe we could call in the GIW or MERF? I know they're useless, but any hands we can get..."

Agent Lima sneered as he turned off his surveillance of the Unified Intelligence Network.

The UIN had been created in the aftermath of the Warlord incident – the idea was to a unified response in place in case of another such attack. It included all of the major 'secret' agencies – the CIA, the FBI, R.E.R.E., SHEILD, UNIT, everything.

Everything except one. That one being Majestic-12.

Agent Lima whistled as he got up from his desk in the dark, cold room, leaning over and opening the top drawer of the desk. He grabbed a file and took it out.

"Looks like it's time," he said to himself, "I've waited too long for this. What a glorious day."

He lifted up the folder, taking it in.

It was entitled 'NICKTOONS', and a stamp of red text in the centre of the folder declared 'Dismantlement Procedure.'

And so it was that the fall of the Nicktoons began.

AN: What are you up to, Masters...