"So there you have it, Tim." I said in a rather maniacal tone. "We strike tonight, and carry out our plan to...eliminate her! Buahahahaha!" I laughed maniacally.

Tim followed with an equally fiendish snicker, "Buahahahahahaa!" he cried.

And then we laughed together, in unison, "Buahahahahahahahahahaaa!" like two prisoners sworn to reap vengeance after being thrown into an asylum.

Blank stares filled the office area. Eyes peered from among each cubicle and desk. Noticing the fleeting glances, we casually eased our way back into normal routine.
Tim broke the silence, "Yes. We've established the getting-her-outta-the-way part, but which one of us is going to actually execute the "getting her outta the way" part?" Tim asked.

I replied in a rather cool manner. "Hmmm, yes. I've taken that thought into deep consideration, and I vote that I am...not it!" I yelled aloud.

"NOT IT!" Tim exclaimed, a bit too late. "Confound it!" he cried angrily, grabbing a piece of paper on his desk, and throwing it down with insurmountable force upon the ground.
We watched as it floated to the floor three seconds later. In a fit of rage, he stamped on the piece of paper with tremendous force released from his foot. Pounding and stomping, he ripped the paper to pieces, while muttering curses under his breath.

I interrupted, "Ok geez, if it bothers you that much, I'll do the "getting-her-outta-the-way part," I proposed.

"That's better!" Tim said hostiley, giving one last stomp onto the shredded paper. Tim then reverted back to his old self. "But," he began, "You'll need a disguise, so Samantha doesn't get you fired," he explained. "Who would you wanna be disguised as.....Blue Panther, perhaps, Ultraman, the Blurr, or the Bulk??"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I barged in. "I'm not parading around like some lunatic in one of those halloween super-hero costumes," I said.

"Hmmm," Tim pondered. After stretching the limits of his comic-book knowledge, and going through every issue of every comic he had ever read, which all were placed in a large file cabinet that consituted the many parchments in his mind, Tim came up with a conclusion.

"I've got an idea," he said. "But you’ll have to take a trip to the costume store."

Fearing the worst, I reluctantly agreed.

The night was cool, and the air flowed with a brisk wind. The sky was dark, and lights billowed across the buildings of each avenue. We walked a few blocks and finally reached the building marked with red-lit letters displaying "Qualbay's Costume Cathedral." I opened the door and the usual ding of the bell sounded. To my complete and utter surprise, I caught a familiar face at the corner of my eye, whom himself was eyeing costumes as well.

"Stephen! Stephen, my friend!" I greeted him.

"Ah, Benny, and Tim! What a pleasant surprise! Oh yeah, how's that investigation comin'?" He asked.

"Considering that we received absolutely no help from you, I'd say we're doing pretty well," I said.

"Ah, so Tim has been added to the mix, I see? " Stephen said, and continued, "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I've just been so darn busy with the filming of Bar Wars lately. We're running a bit late on scheduled release, and I was picking up a few costumes for the last few scenes of the movie. What brings you here?" He asked.
As I was pointing to Tim, I explained "Well, Tim here...huh, where did he go?"
I searched around to find that Tim was busily rushing around the store to pick up my disguise in a manner that, I would say, would rival even the Blurr's. In a second's notice, he came up to both Stephen and I and displayed his items. He picked up a facial mask from his armful of clothes and showed it to us.

"This here's a face mask," he unnecessarily explained.

"But this mask is blank," I brought up.

"Exactly!" Tim said. "This will strike fear into the hearts of your opponents! You see, the omittance of facial features makes this mask undeniably, how shall I say this....FREAKY!" he reasoned.

Seeing as to it wasn't along the longs of a bat mask, I admitted that it was quite tolerable, and I must say, a bit freaky.

"Seems tolerable." I said. "What else you got?" I asked.

"Well here, here is a gray trenchcoat. It will add to the mysterious feeling of your character. You have the option of taking on gloves, you know, to avoid getting your prints all over evidence, and these gray pants, you know, so you can blend in with the fog. And to "top" it all off..." he said with a snicker, "...a journalist hat. See it even has that little piece of paper stuck in the little slit that says "press." Now, I'm not made of money, so you should probably find some kind of collared shirt and tie that matches with this stuff, it really doesn't matter to me. You can dress in a hawaiin punch shirt for all I care. But one thing's for sure, the costume is what makes the hero. Trust me, I would know," he explained confidently, in a cool, collective manner.

"Interesting." I said.

"Now, you need a name. Let me think......" Tim reached into the depths of his comic files once again. "Let's see, we could call you the Question, in whom this costume is modeled after, but we want to avoid any DC Comic copyright infringement whatsoever," he rationalized.

"Hmmm, how bout....the Question....Mark? No......the Exclamation?! No......Vick Tracy?! This is rather difficult," Tim discovered.

Then, an idea floated into my brain from nowhere as the answer magically flows into a student's head at the last moment after being asked a mind-numbing question,

"How bout.....Anonymous?" I proposed.

"Anonymous, eh?" Tim contemplated, "Eh……nah. Too many syllables." he disagreed.

I began to exercise my creative mind once again….

Meanwhile Stephen was trying to rip the tag off of one of his costumes to sneak it past security. However, he misjudged his accuracy, and the force his fist was pulling flung backwards into his eye. I saw as his head jerked back in seemingly slow motion.

“Aooof!!” He cried out in pain. “My face! My beautiful, beautiful face!”
I raised my brow in thought and pondered at the words. Something about that phrase seemed a bit…catchy. Then I realized it.

“The Face…yes! I can be…the Face!” I suggested forthrightly.

Tim tapped his chin in decision. “Hmmmm, The Face, eh? Sounds ok, of course I could’ve come up with something better if I weren’t so darn tired,” he argued.

"Alright, then. It's settled, I am...the Face!" I concluded.

"No, no, wait!" Stephen, rambled at the last moment. "I got a better idea......how 'bout.......Benonymous!" he wondered.

"Uhh.......nah." I said.

"But it's a great name! Come on!" Stephen requested.

"That would be a problem, especially if his name is in his alter ego's title. It's just not comic-worthy," Tim asserted.

And that settled that conflict, and we packed up the costume and went to the cash register.

"Uh Good day to you....." Tim searched for the cashier's name tag...."Q-Qualbay? Qualbay. I'd like to buy this costume, which is, I know from the tags, on sale!" Tim explained.

"Umm, ok. That'll be a total of $33.34," Qualbay requested.

"What!? This is high-way robbery! I can't believe how expensive this stupid costume is! I demand a sale!" Tim, angrily demanded, while pounding his fist on the table.

"Please sir, don't pound on the table," Qualbay asked of him.

Being contended by this…Qualbay, Tim thought himself superior to a cashier, and he surely would not be stepped on. Rage slowly crept up in the pit of his stomach. Thoroughly it burned inside of him until it reached his brows. Then I noticed something, strange, indeed, but oddly enough, astounding. The cashier was holding his fist beneath the table and a strange blue aura seemed to be emanating from it.

"Tim," I beckoned. "Don't do anything you'll regret." I told him.

But it was in vain, at that very moment, Tim raised up his arm, fist clenched, and reached into his pocket. He took out a folded piece of paper, and...unfolded it. He then continued to throw it on the ground with enormous strength. Once again we waited three seconds for it to reach the ground. Once it did, Timothy rampantly gouged the paper with his feet numerous times, until all was in shambles, all the while cursing under his breath. He reached into another pocket, and took out his wallet.

"For this! I'll only give you ones! Hahahahaha!" he laughed maniacally.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any George Washingtons, so he asked Stephen to spare a few bucks. He gave the cashier the normal three tens and four dollars. He held out his hand awaiting the change.

"I'm sorry," Qualbay said. "We don't allow the mentally ill to hold any piece of dangerous metal whatsoever. It's store policy," Qualbay explained.

Tim began to fluster once again. His skin turned red, and I saw as his volcanic rage began stirring once again.

To offset the danger of enduring one of his paper fits, I offered, "Don't worry Tim, I'll give you the sixty-six cents once we get outta here."

I then examined the cashier's fist, and the blue aura faded away. Wiping my brow in relief, I grabbed the bag full of party items and the three of us left the store through the doorway, with the usual dinging of the bell ringing in our ears...and thus...the Face was born....

Each of us ran as fast as our feet could take us down the winding street. We took flight on the sidewalk path in hopes to miraculously achieve the speed of sound and stop the bus. But alas, our hopes were in vain, for how could we keep up with a vehicle that attained such a high velocity? We could see the large rectangular form slowly fading away into the distance. We continued to run, but gradually decelerated due to the lack of our endurance.

"Never give up, never surrender!" cried Stephen heartily. The bus had reached a red light.

"Now's our chance!" Tim yelled.

Once again we continued our pursuit, but this time, with even more persistence than before. Closer and closer we came to the bus as it was braking to stop at the red light. We diverged from the sidewalk onto the street. Yards became feet, then feet became inches. Tim was in close reach, just a few centimeters, to the bumper of the bus. He reached his hand out to touch it, and at that moment, the bus unexpectedly swerved to the right, and sped into another street, like the Road Runner escaping from a starving Wile E. Coyote.

"RAAWR!" Tim cried. We stopped in disappointment, slowly skulking back to the sidewalk.

"We lost it," I said, discouraged.

Looking weary, I sat down on a bench. "Now we'll never make it," I added.

"And to make things worse, we're lost!" Stephen cried.

Tim, being the avid observer as he was, discovered a map of the city in front of an office building.

"Hmm, by the looks of this map, it says that....we are here." Tim pointed to the Gala Plaza on the map.

"And it looks like.....Main Street is just on the other side of this other street," he concluded.

"Great! We can check out Star Dollars and discuss our plan over some dinner. We'll have plenty of time!" I said.

So we began walking to our destination. As it turned out, in due time, we reached an intersection.

"Ah, this must be the street that you saw on the map, Tim," said I.

As we moved closer an inconceivable scene came into our sight. We watched as cars were whizzing by like a blur of light, sending powerful gusts blowing against our faces. We stood in our places with awe. Six lanes stretched across the runway. Yes, it was a highway we discovered, astonished.

"Six furgin' lanes!? What kind of an idjit puts a highway in the middle of a city!?" Tim gnashed out.

"Apparently, the mayor, duh," Stephen criticized. We were in quite a predicament.

"We'll just wait until the light turns red." Steve suggested.

"URGH!!" Tim cried in disbelief. "The cars won't stop, you incompetent injun!" Tim cried hysterically.

"Hey! Don't worry," Stephen consoled, "Pedestrians have the right of way," he said confidently.

"It's a highway! There are no street lights on a highway!" Tim explained.

"Guys, relax!" I coaxed. "We'll just wait until there's a gap," I suggested.

And so, we waited on the sidewalk, cars freely fleeing from left to right and vice versa in a liberated manner. The minutes dragged on, and we decided to rest comfortably and sit "injun" style on the sidewalk while observing passing cars. What seemed like hours had passed as we rested on the grass.

"Wow, now that's a nice Volvo," Stephen said. "I agree," I agreed.

"With a steel cage like that, you can keep the grand poobah of Timbuktu safe from a terrorist attack!"

Cars continued to whisk by, one after the other, with increasing velocity. After some time, Tim erupted.

"I can't take this any more! It's been one-point-two-five hours and we still haven't spotted a gap!" he cried. "I say we run it."

"Are you crazy!?" I cried.

Tim stood there for a moment, contemplating his decision.

"Yes," he replied, "Crazy like a fox."

Suddenly, Tim irrationally stepped onto the dangersome highway, ignoring all sense of judgment from his mind.

"Tim, no!" Stephen cried.

But it was too late...Tim had already zipped away.