Disclaimer: Worm belongs to Wildbow, I own nothing.

Dennis shivered happily as he stepped off the ship, taking in the glorious view: his cabin, and then snow, snow, ice, and more snow, and maybe some more ice.

More importantly, no bugs, guns, or healers in sight.

This was going to be a great holiday.

If, perhaps, a slightly chilly one.

He grabbed his suitcase, and began the arduous process of hefting it towards the cabin with a cheerful whistle.

'Dear manly-journal-that-is-in-no-way-a-diary,

This place is the best! I've been here for three days now, and I haven't seen a bug, a gun or a healer yet! I actually managed to get a full night's sleep without having nightmares about army ant field medics.

I'm tempted to stay here permanently and just let the whole hero thing go. It would probably be safer. Something to consider once I solve the problem of not being able to feel my toes, at least.'

Dennis winced as he accidentally sliced his thumb while cutting the carrots for his stew - then went white with horror and dived under the table.

A long, silent moment passed.

He crawled back out, tentatively.

Then grinned triumphantly.

"Oh, that's right, no healers," he said to nobody, before waving his hand at the ceiling, "See this? See this, you bastard? I'm cut! Hurt! Injured! And none of your agents of despair have come knocking down my door to fix it! I've won! WON!"

'Dear bro-esque-writing-book-that-still-isn't-a-diary,

My first week is almost over, and I feel more relaxed than ever. Still no bugs, firearms or medical parahumans! A polar bear tried to jump me when I went outside for firewood, but I kicked its ass. Anyway, I -

There was a knock at the door.

Dennis took a deep breath, as he moved a trembling hand towards the door. Who had tracked him down to here, of all places? What horrors were waiting on the other side of this inconspicuous entryway?

He steeled his nerves, and pushed the door open.

He stared.

Standing in front of him were a group he recognised instantly. At the door, with a smile on his face and a knife in his hand, was perhaps the world's most infamous parahuman, Jack Slash, leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

Behind him stood the rest of his group. He made out the massive, monstrous form of Crawler at the back, alongside Shatterbird and Mannequin.

Siberian stood off to the side, in front of a large, oddly-shaped snow mound, while the diminutive form of Bonesaw was shivering in what he could only describe as a seal-coat. Not a seal-skin coat; a coat genuinely made out of interlocked seals.

Burnscar and Cherish were sitting down, sharing the warmth of the fire in the former's hand.

"Oh, good," he sighed in relief, "It's just you guys. I thought it was something horrible, like a bug, or a gun, or a healer."

Then he shut the door in Jack's face and turned back around.

"Well," Jack commented after an awkward moment, "That was different."

"Did that just happen? I don't believe that just happened," Cherish said incredulously.

"I know," Bonesaw stomped her feet, "I am too a healer!"

Everyone looked at her incredulously.

"Oh, come on. Lack of ability and lack of willing are two different things!"

"Anyway," Jack interjected before she got angry, "Let's try that again."

He knocked again.

Dennis frowned in annoyance as he opened the door again. "What the hell do you people want? I'm trying to write in my di-masculine event recording device," he amended quickly.

"Well," Jack scratched his head, "We're the Slaughterhouse Nine."

"I didn't ask who you are, I asked what you want," Dennis crossed his arms expectantly.

"Oh. Well... we're here to murder you, horribly?"

"Ah," Dennis frowned, "That's kind of inconvenient."

"I suppose it would be, for you," Jack privately felt this was the oddest day he'd had this week, "...well then, er, Siberian, you kill him. It's your turn."

The menacing black-and-white figure stepped forward.

"Well," Dennis sighed, "Normally, there's no way in hell I'd be able to beat you all on my own. Fortunately, this happened," he made a 'T' shape with his hands, "Time Out."

Everyone but the redhead froze. Dennis observed the unmoving forms of the Slaughterhouse Nine, the Siberian stuck mid-stride, the confused smile fixed on Jack's face.

He then shrugged, and turned to the readers.

"Well, this is just my luck, isn't it, guys? I try to go away for a relaxing vacation, and then I run into these bozos. Fortunately for me, at some point during the horrific events that I've been repeatedly put through in the last few weeks or so, I second-triggered!"

He scratched his chin, "It's still pretty weird, using it. I mean, I just hold my hands like that and say 'Time Out', then everyone stops what they're doing and stands still, and all of a sudden I can see all you guys, and feel an unexplainable urge to narrate. Hi, you guys!" he waved.

He then frowned. "All right, a few of you waved back, at least. It's all right, I'm still getting used to this, too. Oh, before I forget," he then tapped Jack on the forehead, "Got you," then proceeded to tag the rest of the Nine, "And you, and you, and you..." until he rubbed his hands together, contentedly, "And done."

He turned back to the readers. "Right then, that settles that. Actually, I should probably call this in, shouldn't I?" He sighed. "Damn. I guess my vacation is ending early. Time in!"

Everything unfroze - apart from the Slaughterhouse Nine, who were tagged by Dennis' power.

Then the Siberian disappeared - and reappeared again, lunging for him.

"Time out!"

She froze again.

"Now that's just not fair," Dennis frowned, before turning back to the readers. "You guys know something, don't you? I know you do," he eyed you all suspiciously, "I can see it in your beady little eyes. Let's see... what looks out of place... what looks out of place... what looks out of -" he blinked, "Hold on, are snow mounds normally shaped like vans? Aha!" He pointed triumphantly at the knowing look in the eyes of a member of the reader base, "Well then, now that's solved, I suppose I'd better wrap this up. After all, we've got a sequel coming up, and a bunch of psychos like these guys really bring down the mood in what's supposed to be a humorous story, right? Don't worry, though, there are still plenty of villains to deal with in the next go-around. I don't think I'll be there, on the other hand - I'm going to retire and live like a king on the proceeds I get from this bunch. Well, two more points of view to go, and then we'll see you in the next story!"

"I don't know how, I don't know why, but somehow, I know I'm responsible for this." Taylor stared in shock as 'Brockton Bay Ward Captures Slaughterhouse Nine' headlined the news that morning.

"Miss Militia."

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"What is your progress on finding a new habitable dimension? I feel my stay in this one is becoming more and more unbearable as events progress."

"It's going well, Ma'am. I am making progress towards bribing Dragon to replicate some of Doctor Haywire's work."

"How are you managing that?"

"Naked pictures of Armsmaster, Ma'am."

"...and now I wish I hadn't asked."

"It's all right, Ma'am. It's not the worst thing I've ever had to do in the line of duty."

"Yes, I can imagine."

"...Though it does make the top five."

"Yes, well, that's all well and good, but how do you plan on getting hold of Doctor Haywire's work in the first place?"

"Well, Ma'am," Miss Militia's eyes glinted, "It occurs to me that I could stand to learn some lessons from one of our more prolific enemies when it comes to methods of acquiring things that we desperately need."