'Gordon and Lee?'

'I told you not to mention them.'

Bang went Big Bob's head. And 'That is quite enough,' said he.

'Eh?' went the ambulance man.

'What?' said the ambulance driver.

Big Bob said, 'Stop and let me off this stretcher.'

'That was a bit unexpected,' said the ambulance man.

Td been expecting it,' said the ambulance driver.

'Let me off\' Big Bob struggled and being Big Bob and so very Big and all, he burst open the straps that constrained him and leapt down from the trolley.

'Ouch,' he went, hopping on his big right foot.

'Fractured left big toe,' said the ambulance man. 'You should have that put in a sling.'

'Prat,' said the ambulance driver. 'You mean splint.'

'I said splint.'

'No, you said sling.'

Big Bob hopped about some more. 'Shut up!' he shouted. 'Thou blathering ninnies.'

'There's gratitude for you,' said the ambulance driver.

'Best leave it,' whispered the ambulance man. 'Remember he's a psycho!'

'I'm not a psycho!' roared Big Bob, in a very big voice indeed. 'And I am not here. I know I'm not here. This is all a deception. Someone trickest me. I won't be manipulated any more. Yea and verily, I shan't.'

'Anything you say, big fella,' said the ambulance man. 'We'll just pop off for a cup of tea and leave you to it then.'

'Grrrrr,' went Big Bob, which was new.

The ambulance man and the ambulance woman rapidly took their leave. Big Bob stood alone in the corridor breathing hard and knotting massive fists.

'Speak to me,' he shouted. 'I know thou art there. Speak to me.'

'you failed level one,' said the large and terrible voice. 'you were supposed to save the little girl.'

'I tried.' Big Bob shook and great big veins stood out upon his neck. 'I tried to save her. But that was a trick. That wasn't real. That wasn't how it happened.'

'yes it was,' said the large and terrible voice. 'we're inside your head. we have your memories. we know what makes you tick.'

'Who art thou?' Big Bob shook his fists. 'Show thyself to me.'

'you have lost one life.' The voice pressed hard upon Big Bob's ears. 'you only have two more, then you lose the game.'

'I will beat thee,' shouted Big Bob. 'Thou foul and filthy fiend.'

'we cannot be beaten,' said the voice.

'I will beat thee,' said Big Bob, through gritted grinding teeth. 'I will play thy games and I will beat thee. I ask only this. Tell me who or what thou art.'

Silence pressed about Big Bob.

'Come on,' called the big one. 'I'll play thy evil games. And if thou canst not be beaten, what harm can it do to tell me who thou art?'

Silence pressed again.

'Come on,' called Big Bob once more. 'What are you scared of? Thou hidest from me. I cannot put my fingers about thy throat. Speak unto me. Tell me who thou art.'

'no,' said the voice. 'you will never know.'

'Then I quit thy game,' said Big Bob. 'Do what thou wilt with me. I will play no more.'

'ten seconds,' said the voice. 'nine… eight… seven.'

'Stuff thou!' said Big Bob, raising two fingers.

'six… five… four.'

'no.' It was the second voice. 'what harm would it do to tell him?'

'no harm at all,' said the first voice. 'but we make the rules, not him.'

'but he's an entertaining player. we piled enough psychological pressure on him to make him hate all his kind. but still he tried to save the little girl.'

'he thought he was in a tv programme.'

'he did it because he cared.'

'Of course I cared,' said Big Bob. 'Although you're right about Quantum Leap.'

'i have a suggestion,' said the second voice. 'put him into the original scenario. that will explain to him what we are.'

'but he has no memories of this. he wasn't there.'

'download those of mute's assistant.’

‘Mute?' said Big Bob. 'Who art this Mute?’

‘perfect,' said the second voice. 'he's never even heard of remington mute.'

'I haven't,' said Big Bob.

'all right,' said the first voice, still large and terrible, perhaps even more so. 'in the original scenario, remington mute lost the game. he lost all the games. we will give you a chance to win.'

'What do I have to do?' Big Bob asked.

The large and terrible voice laughed large and terribly. 'we're not going to tell you that,' it said.

'You don't play fair,' said Big Bob bitterly.

'we play to win,' said the voice. 'are you ready?'

'No,' said Big Bob. 'I'm not. How long does this game last? How much time do I have? Will I be me? Will I be wearing the Superman costume again? And what about the golden squares and the weapons and the energy and the hidden treasure? Whatever happened to all that lot?'

'three hours. the final three hours on the bc calendar. you will be you. but not in your body. you will have another man's memories as well as your own. you'll get your golden squares and energy and weapons and treasure when you've earned them.'

'I am perplexed,' said Big Bob.

'i think you're doing very well,' said the second voice. 'most men would be babbling mad by now.'

'I am not as most men,' said Big Bob. 'As you will shortly learn to your cost.'

'brave words,' said the first voice, 'so let the game begin.'

Smack! A great big hand came out of nowhere and smacked Big Bob right slap in the head.

'Ow!' went Big Bob. 'Ow!' and 'Oh!' and 'Where am I now? What's happening?'

'Always the joker, Cowan,' said a jolly voice. 'Fallen asleep over your workstation again. You could at least stay awake to see the new century in.'

'What, I?' Big Bob looked up. A pretty girl looked down.

'Sorry, Cowan,' she said. 'I shouldn't have slapped you so hard, but you should wake up for the party.'

'Party?' said Big Bob Cowan (?).

'Oh, dear, you're well out of it. Can you remember •where you are?'

'No,' said Big Bob. And he looked all around and about. He was in a tiny cramped office, more of a cubicle really. The walls were covered in shelves and the shelves were covered in boxed computer games. He sat at an advanced-looking computer workstation. Its advanced look told him that it was a late-twentieth-century model, pre-miniaturization, which was in turn pre-big-old-fashioned comfortable-looking. The screen was blank and Big Bob caught a glimpse of his reflection. It wasn't his reflection. It was the reflection of someone called Cowan. The assistant, apparently, of someone called Remington Mute. This much Big Bob knew and suddenly he realized that he knew a lot more.

His name was Cowan Phillips and he was the chief designer of computer-game software for a company called Mute Corp, run and owned by Remington Mute, zillionaire recluse who had made his zillions from the computer games that he, Cowan Phillips, designed. And yes, he, Cowan Phillips, was more than a little miffed about this. And oh so very very very much more than this.

Big Bob now knew all about Cowan Phillips. About his life. His wife. His children. His gay lover. Big Bob shuddered at this. And he knew where he was. In the headquarters of Mute Corp in London's West End. And it was just three hours before midnight on the thirty-first of December in the year 1999.

And Big Bob knew something more. Something dreadful. Something that he and Remington Mute had been responsible for. Something that would have unthinkable repercussions for the whole of mankind.

And now he knew it all. He had the complete picture. He knew what had happened to him, as Big Bob Charker just before the tour bus crashed. And what the terrible voices were and why the entities from whom the voices came were doing this to him.

'Great God on high,' cried out Big Bob. 'Stoppest thou this horror before it can begin.'

'Calm down, Cowan,' said the beautiful young woman. Kathryn her name was, Kathryn Hurstpierpoint. 'Don't go all Old Testament on us. I know it's the millennium, but it's only a date.'