Nobody truly understands how difficult it is to maintain a multiverse.

            If I didn't have a distinct fondness for creativity and certain tendency towards masochism, I probably would've bailed on this job before I would've tried to apply.  I mean, let's face it: trying to run a multiverse is bad enough with normals, but trying to run SUPERS is a trying business at best, exasperating and nerve-wracking at worst.

            Let me explain.

            I work as a "continuity manager" for the multiverse commanded by Stan "The Man" (as his subordinates usually call him when he's in a good mood) and I work behind the scenes keeping the many different alternate universes in check.  There are MILLIONS of us working in the same building, each one assigned to manage a group or groups of people.  Most are assigned to the general public of the worlds, introducing them and keeping them out of the hardlines where a remote few are responsible for maintaining the supers of the multiverse.  Heroes and villains alike have to be guided in their parts as the Writers come up with new ideas to keep the multiverse going; Stan says that ideas give the place energy or something like that.  Personally, I think that he just shows this place off to other people for entertainment purposes; it's the only reason I can account for his MASSIVE continuity budget.

            Writers have to continually correspond with others, so as not to step on anybody's toes.  It's important because Writers have a great deal of power in this business, and lives are literally won or lost on their choices.  It's not too bad for the losers in that respect; they are usually brought back to life or even granted the lofty title (as lofty as an ex-character can aspire to) of Creative Consultants.  After all, since they lived in the multiverse, they have the unique aspect of experiencing what we Writers set up.  As for the Writers, we've recently had to start a few regulations to keep things from becoming totally ridiculous.  (If you think the Secret Wars were damaging, think about several thousand Writers going ballistic within storylines. It isn't pretty.)  Some writers take their work a little too seriously, especially when...well, that brings me to this.

            Stan recently put a new directive into effect that he believes will make our interaction with the storylines more "Character-friendly."  Basically, this directive is an "open-door-policy" that allows the Characters in the multiverse to take time out from their own busy schedules from the Experience (what they actually go through) and the rehearsals for the Experiences.

            In other words, I keep getting visits.  Let me give you an account of an average day in my life as a Writer...

            Seven a.m. and the coffee is hot, black and strong.  I got Mister Fantastic to fix me up with a coffemaker that makes concentrated java.  Its great for those slow mornings, but I have to be careful.  I take too big a sip and the next thing I know, I'm unable to blink for an hour.  In payment, I got his wife to start wearing a more revealing combat uniform.  She didn't argue, but I did catch mutters every so often about "exploitation and sensationalism" from her memos.  Hey, she should pay more attention to her hubby so he won't have to come to me with marital problems.

            And, of course, the parade comes through.

            My computer is never without mail.  Between ideas from Higher Up and requests from Lower Than Me, I must get more mail coming through my computer than one of the Kree Postal Units.  I'm going through one particularly useless request when my first visitor shows up.

            "Hey, Doug!"

            I don't even turn around. "Hi, Wolvie.  Take a seat; I'll be with you in a moment.  Want some coffee?"

            "No thanks."  He sounds particularly anxious about something and I decide that my current penpal can wait a few minutes.  I swivel around in my seat and look at Logan.

            "What's on your mind?" I ask.

            "Well, it's about this Gen X thing..." he says in a concerned tone.  "Look, I don't want to be a pain..."

            "That'll be a first."

            "...but I'm worried about Jubilee."

            That throws me.  I knew Wolverine and Jubilee are kinda fond of each other, but Logan's coming across as a worried parent.  When Logan sounds like my mom, I know something's up.  "What do you mean?"

            "Well, she's hanging around with a buncha juves."

            "She's not exactly a five-year-old herself, you know.  She's an experienced mutant and a mature young woman, she's going to do just fine."

            "I know, I know...but I worry, okay?" Logan adds defensively.  As his voice raises, I have to remind myself that none of the Characters' powers can be used to harm or affect Writers.

            "Okay, okay, Wolvie, chill.  I'll check with her Writer and make sure you find out how she's doing.  You could always talk to the Gen X's Agent."

            "No THANKS."  Logan rises.  "Thanks."  The gratitude comes out awkward, but I smile.  Logan's not used to touchy-feely stuff, I guess.  As he leaves, I make a mental note to contact Jubilee's Writer before lunch.

            A little after eight.

            "Hello, sugah...you busy?"

            UH-oh.  I turn around and see Rogue leaning against the doorjamb, dressed in a rather tight-fitting miniskirt and silk blouse, white stockings and high heels completing the ensemble.  "Uh...hi, Rogue...what's on your mind?"

            She sashays in and my worry increases.  Ever since this open-door-policy, Rogue's been taking advantage of it to show up at my door almost every day.  For some reason, she's become somewhat...enamored of me.  She even called me "cute" on several occasions.  Under other conditions, I wouldn't mind a bit; superheroines tend to lean towards the supermodel when it comes to looks, and Rogue's southern drawl does have its effect upon me...but there are strict rules against Writers fraternizing with Characters. STRICT rules. UNBELIEVABLY strict rules.  Rogue, however, seems determined to live up to her name and she's been trying to get my, ahem...ATTENTION for some time. "Ah just wanted to come by and see how you was doing, that's all."

            "Well, Rogue, as much as I enjoy your company, I've got a massive amount of work I gotta get done."

            "You sure you wouldn't mind just letting me give you a backrub or something?" She's smiling mischievously.  I don't know whether to be glad or scared stiff.

            "Well, don't Gambit and you have something going...?" I say quickly as I realize that her chair is closing the gap between it and me.

            "Well, ah'll tell ya, since ya asked."  Rogue crossed her legs.  "Remy and I have been going through a few rough times...you know how hard it is, not being able to touch him.  There was a time when I'd kill just to be able to kiss him without having to worry about absorbing his personality.  He's always flirting with some other gal, too."  She reached out and touched my bare arm and it dawns on me.

            Being a Writer, none of her powers can affect me...including her unrestricted power to absorb other people's powers and abilities!  I'm the only kind of entity able to touch her bare skin without fear.  "Rogue, that's just the way he is."

            "No, sugah, that's just the role he plays.  Roles we all play."  Her voice takes on a more hardened tone.  "Sometimes I get tired of going through all this, tired of being unable to show that I'm a woman to SOMEBODY!  Writers like you created me, made me what I was.  Do you know that when Remy isn't doin' the Experience, he never even notices me?  He just goes on with his life, doin' the casino thang...and I get to sit at home alone, eatin' ice cream and watchin' soaps!"  Her face is surprisingly close to mine.  "I want to LIVE, Doug.  I wanna take time off and go to Alabama or Mississippi, just to see what it looks like. Ah'm supposed to be a Southern Belle and I've never even BEEN to those places."

            "Come on, Rogue..."  She's wearing perfume, wonderful.  "You've been there before, you know."

            "Experience don't count, Doug. I've never gone there without bein' afraid for mah life.  You're a Writer, Doug, can't you do something?"  Her voice is pleading and I'm not the kind of guy who resists women who beg very well.

            "Rogue, remember the Rules...?"

            "FUCK the Rules, Doug, ah'm only human!"

            I pat her hand gently.  "Look, Rogue, calm down, you're getting hysterical."  She nods and takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly.  "Look, I'll take it up with the Boss.  I've got a meeting with him this afternoon.  I promise that I'll talk to him, but I can't promise results.  I can only ask.  I don't know how I'll justify it, but I'll try."   I gotta be outta my mind.

            "Okay, Doug...."  Rogue said, not sounding especially confident.  She stood up and walked towards the door.

            Just before she got there, I had to satisfy my curiosity.  "Out of all the Writers, what made you want to pick me?  I don't even Write for you."

            She turned around, her face a mask of anger.  "Well, ah'm SORRY ah had to burden you with..."

            "Now, wait, hold on...I didn't mean it like that.  I mean...look, Rogue, I like you.  I just wanted to know why, out of all the Writers in this genre, any of which would give their eyeteeth to...well, you know..."  I don't quite know how to finish my words and it must show on my face, because Rogue's face changed as soon as I say the words.

            Rogue looked mollified.  "You mean, why did I ask you for help?  Well, Doug...it's been a long time for me.  You have no idea how I envy people when I see them kiss and hold hands.  Is it selfish for me to want the same thing?"

            "No...no, I guess not."

            She smiled, wiping her cheeks.  "Besides, you're the only Writer I know who'd actually follow the rules despite what I was wearing or wanting.  You're a stand-up guy, Doug...and I like you, too."

            I chuckle a little.  "Careful, Rogue, your southern accent is slipping."

            Rogue laughs, and my day gets better.  "Well, ah cain't let that happen." She sprints over and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and flies out the door before I can react.  I sit back and sigh.

            Some days are just SO confusing.

            Ten-thirty.

            I finish up my proposal for the next few months for X-Factor when I hear a rumbling and feel the earth shaking.  From the sound of it, it almost sounds like running.  Okay, either the Hulk or the Juggernaut.

            Benjamin Grimm opens the door with a crash. "WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE??!!" he bellows.

            Okay, I was close.  "Why?"

            "I WANNA TALK ABOUT NEXT WEEK'S ACT!!  I'M GETTING REAMED HERE!"  he rumbles and I have to put paperweights down to keep my notes from flying all over the place.

            "What's the problem?"

            "WHO THE BLOODY-BLUE BLAZES ARE YOU?!"  he asks and it occurs to me that his rage is blinding his reason.  I get up and stand in front of the Thing, then reach back and belt him one.  I'm okay when it comes to being in shape, he can lift eighty tons, but the result is no contest.

            He flies back a few feet, hitting the wall to his rear and landing on his butt.  The Thing rubs his jaw and looks up at me.  "YOU'RE a Writer?" he asks in a more reasonable tone of voice.  "I thought you were a copyboy or something.  I guess I stand corrected," he adds ruefully.

            "More like you'll SIT corrected."  I rub my knuckles; the Thing IS made of rock, after all.  "Now that you've got that out of your system, wanna tell me what the problem is?"

            "It's this script.  It's got me going on a rampage through New York, but according to what happens next, Titania shows up and beats the crap outta me."

            Uh-oh.  "Does your Writer have a reason for this?"

            "That's what I wanna know!  He doesn't answer my calls, but he puts me in the middle of this just before I'm supposed to go off with Sue and the rest to the Savage Land to get into this battle-royal.  That's not the problem, tho.  The problem is, I don't do rampages no more and I can't go doin' this before getting into a major dust-up."

            "Does seem kinda odd.  Let me check it out."  I call up the script while Ben paces restlessly around the office.  "According to this, it...hmmmm...THIS is interesting.  He's got some memos to the front office discussing photo ops.  VERY irregular."

            "How so?"  Ben asks, curious.

            "We have to schedule photos of you guys in action in advance to make sure of camera angles and all that.  We use the pictures for promotional items and merchandising, but this guy is going a little quick to get pictures of you smashing New York.  He's also scheduling other heroes and heroines of your strength level, or at least close to it, away from the action."

            "I don't get it."

            "Neither do I, but it sounds suspiciously like he's trying to get some exclusive photos of the action.  In any case, I'd better report this.  Tell Damage Coordination that I said to hold that scene until next week.  I'm calling Creative Control on this one.  If Damage has any problems, tell them to call me.  I'll take full responsibility."

            "Ok..." the Thing says dubiously.

            "Trust me.  Just go through your other Experience Scenes, but if it comes time for this one in particular and you haven't heard from me by then, take the day off until you do hear from me."

            "Alright.  Thanks."

            "No problem.  Say hi to the gang for me."

            "Will do."

            Lunch!!!

            As I munch my hot dog with mustard, I consider what Ben's Writer is trying.  It seems just too much like a hype job for my tastes, and he's getting some strange mail sends from outside the company.   I do some unauthorized digging and find out that the service contracts for those pictures are going to a small holding company.

            Interesting.

            I send my findings to Stan and hope he gets to take a look at them by the time our meeting starts.  I can't be sure, but if I'm right, Stan The Great And Terrible is going to have some serious words for Ben's Writer.  Serves him right for abusing his power the way he did.  I hear in some other multiverses, some Writers put their Characters into exploitative situations like pin-up lingerie clothing and other sensationalistic scripts.  The Characters can't do much about it if the Editors approve of those tactics, especially if those scripts cause more interest in the goings-on of the Characters.  Granted, let's not have a double-standard; I can imagine more than a few heroines I'd love to see in stretch-lace and satin, but there's a difference between...

            Ah, but that's some other multiverse and there's little I can do unless the Editors approve of a multiverse Cross-Over anyways.

            I'm about to consider an office-wide memo to address this little matter when I'm interrupted by the smell of rotting meat and death.

            Oh HELL.

            I turn around and there he is, in all his red, black and gory reality...CARNAGE.  I had been dreading this little meeting ever since the heroes that I'd been Writing had been requested to help against Carnage's latest breakout from Ravencroft prison.  Carnage always had a reputation for visiting any Writers involved with him, even indirectly, and chatting with them about how he'd like to see himself portrayed.  It looked like today was my turn.  "Hello, Kletus," I say levelly.  Dealing with Carnage was always a touchy situation.  Even though all Writers knew about their invulnerability versus the powers and abilities of Characters, Carnage always seemed to find a way to get under their skin.  I swore that one day, I would find the Writer responsible for creating Carnage and drop him down a very deep hole.

            "Hiya, Doug.  I gotta tell ya, I just LOOOOOVVE all this attention!"  He smiled, letting his teeth let me know just how insane he was.  Carnage, like a lot of Characters, was indistinguishable from his public persona.  Some Characters are different from the heroes or heroines they play in the multiverse, but others, like Carnage, never left their roles behind when they were off-duty.

            "Do you."  I put aside my computer work momentarily.  "Let me guess: you're here to discuss your upcoming role with me, right?"

            "Give the man a meatburger!"  His grin was REALLY getting on my nerves.  "Yeah, Dougie...I want to get a little edge on the competition, you might say."

            "Sorry, Carnage, I write for the Guys In The White Hats this time around."

            "I know!  That's why I'm here.  Think you could give me the dirt on what I'm coming up against?"

            "No, Carnage.  They're supposed to be a surprise, remember?  In the battle-royals, all hero intros are supposed to be a surprise and you're supposed to improvise from there.  Those are the Rules."

            "Screw the Rules!"  He came closer, his stink making me sorry I had that hot dog.  "I want to know, and YOU'RE going to tell me!"

            "Or what?  You'll eviscerate me?  You've been around long enough to know that you can't do that.  You can't even give me so much as a rug burn."  He WAS giving me a headache, though.  "I knew you were crazy, Kasady, but I didn't think you were stupid."

            Carnage roared and I jumped back as he came at me, all claws and teeth and rage.  He was about to attempt to carve me up like a Thanksgiving turkey when the auto defenses kicked in.  His claw passed harmlessly through me and he fell forward as he overcompensated.

            I don't know what sort of cosmic power Stan uses to enforce our protective measures, but now was not the time to ask.  I kicked upwards as he was locked into slow-motion, my shoe connecting with his stomach.  The air WHOOSHED out of him and he dropped just as the guards showed up to take him away.  I sat there and sweated bullets for a few minutes while the Security boys trussed him up with his own tendrils and sedated him.

            I finally found the energy to speak.  "WHAT TOOK YOU GUYS SO LONG??"

            "Sorry, heavy traffic by the vending machines."  The man in charge of the squad bowed.  "Are you alright?  He really couldn't have hurt you, you know."

            "YOU trying staying calm with a landshark going straight for your jugular vein!!" I sat down, grabbing a drink of coffee.  It was cold, but I didn't care at that point.  "Just get him out of here!"  I looked down at my hands.  They were shaking so bad, I could probably have threaded the eye of a sewing machine needle while the machine was running!

            As they left, I heard one remark to the other, "BOY, is he ever high-strung...!"  I swear to God, I almost wrote up a quick cream pie for each of them.

            Two...forty...three.

            Since Carnage's little visit, three more heroes came in, asking for love-interests.  Dr. Strange thanked me for making his new field uniform.  Almost got raped by Typhoid Mary...she didn't want anything, she just tried to rape me just because she thought she could.  Namor came in, congratulating me for coming up with a complex plotline involving himself and Namorita.  I think he privately enjoys getting a real challenge now and then.  Veterans usually do.

            Got to see Peter and M.J. before they took off.  They were retiring from the biz;  the actors playing them had made a real-life romance out of their roles and it looked like they would actually make it as a couple.  I wished them luck, told them they could use me for a reference if they needed one.

            Had two interviews for a couple of new guys; one heroine, one villain.  The heroine was a little hormone-daft, but she was professional enough to come across as a competent heroine.  Referred her to the Gen X Writers.  The villain was another vampire-type, albeit on the high-powered side.  Had to be honest with him...ever since the Midnight Sons, vampires were becoming passe, but I told him I'd try to get him a spot, maybe a cameo to test the waters.  Nice guy, for a villain.

            Three-thirty rolled around and I got my briefcase, heading for the lift to Stan's Office.  As I walked to the rear of the elevator, I looked down at the hundreds of floors deep beneath the planet's surface.  Each floor with its own staff of Writers, Set Directors, Metaphysic Researchers...on and on and on.  It's one helluva building...I've been working here for a few years and I've never been beyond more than six or seven floors up or down from my own floor.  Well, going to Stan's Office didn't count...

            I knocked three times on the door.  The Uni-Mind let me in before going back to its secretarial duties.  Leave it to Stan to get a gestalt mind to work out his duties.  I didn't hear it, but I know it let Stan know I was here.  Despite myself, I was a little nervous.  Stan had more power than all the gods in the multiverse pantheons put together.  After all, he created them.  I was a Writer, still human for all the power I was granted to create stories.

            Audiences with a Supreme Being were always nerve-wracking.

            I enter the foyer into the office, a showplace of pictures and portraits of some of the first heroes ever created; Stan's own work, Writ by his own hand.  A bit crude by normal standards, but there was no denying the quality of the talent behind it all. 

            I wasn't allowed to admire for long, though.  A mental summoning touched my mind.  Mr. Jacobs, Stan will see you now.