Samantha couldn’t believe her eyes. But there it was, stretched in red lettering across the bottom of the six o’clock news. “Bob Rozakis rumors confirmed: Bobstar gives direction to superheros.” She rubbed her eyes and groaned as the reporter droned on about the scandal. Superman was shown, cape over his face as he refused to respond to comments about his inability to ask for directions. Catwoman clawed the face of a reporter who suggested she couldn’t read a map. Samantha pondered who would have the motivation to expose them in such a way. The phone rang. Her mother asked if she had seen the news, lamenting the fact that reporters had begun to descend on the house. She was thinking of asking a few of the zombies she’d met in Seattle to come down and have at them, but she didn’t want severed limbs on the lawn. After she hung up, Samantha finally acknowledged her suspicions. Only one being could have been responsible. Could have despised the Bobstar system so much to tell the news. Grabbing a hammer from the kitchen, Sam slipped into her pink “ass-kicking” crocs and headed for the garage. She tookt he stairs slowly, watching her surroundings and making sure not to trip or hit her ear with the hammer. She stretched it in front of her like a shield. She hit the unlock button on her car, took a deep breath and flung open the passenger side door. As she suspected, Bernice sat on the dashboard, angry arrows flashing and her grating British voice cackling manically about u-turns. With a few beats of her hammer, Sam could solve the problem. It seemed to be what the unhinged GPS wanted. As her hand hesitated, Bernice taunted her with speed warnings. An idea shimmered to life and Sam smiled slowly. Bernice fell silent. Two days later, a clerk at the University of Delaware opened an anonymous package, where Bernice sat, sucked into the never-ending loop of her nightmares.