Further adventures of Judy Travel. Made an effort to back-story it enough that someone ignorant of the theme of the world can understand and follow it. Enjoy!
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"We have in the studio today a brave, resourceful woman by the name of Judy Travel, famed author and expert on magic zones, most recently published in our own Oprah Book Club. Her best-selling book 'Inside Purgatory' has already swept the country, and today she's here to tell us about her experiences."

Applause from the audience, as a matronly woman in her mid-fifties, blond hair cut to shoulder-length, bright blue eyes and a friendly, motherly smile. The audience warmed to the woman's entrance immediately, taking in her down-to-earth appearance and good-natured, slightly embarassed smile. She plucked self-consciously at her green dress before sitting down, straightening her sweater before turning to Oprah.

"Thank you, Mrs. Winfrey." Judy said. "It's a pleasure to be here."

The camera closed in to frame both in the shot, a bar inserted into the shot to byline Judy and Oprah's names. "Please, call me Oprah. Now, for those of our audience meeting you for the first time, why don't you tell us about what you do?"

"Well, Oprah... I'm what the media like to call a 'Dungeon Delver'. I get called when certain areas require a more delicate touch than the MEC is willing to provide."

Those in the audience nodding along with Oprah. Since the coming of the of the changes in the summer of 2004, the terms 'Dungeon Delver' and 'MEC' had become household names. Those places abandoned by man, or where strong emotions had seemingly seeped right into the walls, grew haunted and twisted. International efforts to contain what, at first, had been a few monsters originally written off as 'anamolous', quickly grew into a pitched battle. A siege of wonder, some termed it. Mythical beasts, powers claimed 'magical', erupted from these forgotten places, endangering civilians and governments alike. These changed places, simply referred to as 'Dungeons', made their appearances across the globe, seeming strongholds of chaos and enigmatic mayhem.

Originally, the UN had set to funding the "Ministry for Extraterrestrial Containment" before it was discovered the sources didn't hail from space. No-one ever saw fit to change the name, and thus, it stayed. The para-military group of researchers and soldiers became global saviours, in a sense, their expertise and more importantly, resources, enabling them to effectively respond to such a global threat. Typically, such a response involved invading a 'Dungeon', killing everything within it, and levelling it afterwards. Some attempts were occasionally made to capture the dungeon 'hearts', typically artifacts or creatures that seemed to serve as the focus point for the dungeon's defenses. This was preferable; as the destruction of a dungeon heart or it's removal seemed to void the enchantments of the area, returning the place back to it's original, mundane surroundings. Those unfortunate souls chosen for such high-casualty activities had been nicknamed 'Dungeon Delvers' seemingly overnight.

Audience attention was high; independant Delvers were a rare fool indeed; only the luckiest, or best-armed, lived longer than an hour in a dungeon. Even fewer repeated the feat.

"How many dungeons have you explored, Judy?"

Miss Travel smiled a bit, shrugging her shoulders. "14, actually. Two of them I didn't even realize were dungeons until afterwards."

A polite, amused smile from Oprah. "You mentioned you're called in when someone doesn't want a place destroyed by the MEC, and in fact, you're rather critical of their policies in your book, 'Inside Purgatory'. Why is that, Judy?"

"The MEC is primarily a military group, and thus they tend towards a military mindset. This lets them do their job very well; I might be critical of their policies sometimes, but I sleep better at night knowing they're protecting us all. I'm usually called in when someone wants a building cleared without damage; the basement of the Library of Congress being a perfect example."

A short burst of applause from the audience; it was one of Judy's best-known feats, clearing what the MEC had termed a "Threat Factor 10" dungeon in a matter of hours, without a single moment of violence. Oprah nodded for Judy to continue.

"I'm also called in sometimes when the threat factor is low, and interested parties would prefer to explore and learn, instead of destroying what's there. Most of the time though, I just go out of my own fascination for the Dungeons themselves."

Oprah blinked in mild shock. A scripted reaction, but the audience none the wiser. "Fascination? You've some critics who charge it's for financial reasons."

Judy smiles. "My only source of funding are royalties from my book. The MEC's bounty on magical items and dungeon hearts doesn't interest me; the times where it's been awarded, they've gone to my charity of choice, the SPCA. I go because the Dungeons interest me. The worlds inside are so unlike our own, and so much more responsive to a person."

"You've mentioned this before in your books, about the 'responsiveness' of these Dungeon areas. Yet so many people die each year in them. What's your secret?"

A thoughtful pause. "The dungeons aren't always inherently dangerous, Oprah. They're like a stage-show; everything fitting into a theme, and actors walking the stage. The entities you meet there are very seldom hostile; usually they're going through the motions of their roles. People who go in blasting meet the same thing in return; hostility doesn't go over well in a Dungeon. Unlike so many others, I'm not going in to pick a fight or kill a Dungeon. I'm going in to explore, observe. Like a spy, but more benign. I try to pick up the theme of the show and write myself a part, and play it out. Unless the theme was violent to start off with," a momentary shudder "I can usually walk through and explore without any problems."

Oprah frowned thoughtfully. "Are you saying then, Judy, that just anyone could safely walk into a Dungeon if they meant well?"

The camera cut away to face Judy. "No, Oprah. No-one should ever walk into a Dungeon."

"What about those who accidentally wander into one? Should they try and emulate you, even perhaps to clear the dungeon themselves?"

"God no. The smartest thing to do is keep your wits around you, and /try to get out/ as fast as possible. Don't panic, don't do anything to call attention to yourself. Get out, call the MEC, and let them handle it."

A cut back to Oprah. "When we come back, Judy tells us about her adventures with the ghosts of Broadway, and her most dangerous delvings. Stay tuned."

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Susan Oppenheimer clapped Judy on the shoulder as they climbed into the limosuine. "Great show, Judy. That endorsement and interview will put you up another few thousand copies this week alone."

Judy smiled back, looking vaguely unsettled, as always, to be in the posh vehicle interior. Susan had honestly liked Judy from the start, when she'd offered her services as agent. The audience loved her because she had that mix of geniality and common sense that was as genuine with family and friends, as it was making speeches to crowds. She had told Susan to pay herself "fairly" off the revenues, which had taken Susan aback. So she had, and much to her surprise ended up awarding herself a modest salary. Judy hadn't taken long to progress from 'client' to 'friend' in her mind, and they worked together well.

"I wonder if she's always as nice away from the camera, Susan?"

"From what I'm told, she is. Not many friends though; consistency isn't her forte away from the studio. Or so I'm told."

Judy nodded and covered her eyes. It had been a long flight in. Without opening her eyes, she said: "You look like you're going to tell me I've work to do."

Susan smiled, brown hair rippling as she opened a window, letting in the warm air of the studio lot as they pulled away. "You know me, Judy. Cracking the whip." A tap on the envelope attached to the clibboard. "I'll tell you about it on the way."

Judy Travel nodded, too tired for curiosity now. She napped through the drive to the airport, and once again on the charter flight. That was a bonus of doing the Oprah show, she reflected to herself sleepily. Flying wasn't cheap, royalties of books or not. When she awoke and ate lunch, Susan passed the envelope to her, which she ignored until after her meal was done.

"Where're we off to, Susan?"

Susan's polished nails tapped the envelope. "Home. Or about a half-hour's drive from."

Judy's eyes opened in surprise, and nearly tore open the envelope. "Oh no..." she said, paling.

Susan's eyes sparkled as she shook her head. "Relax, Judy. This one's a threat class 2, maybe 3 tops. No-one's been hurt yet, and they're holding off calling the MEC until you get first crack. A bit of a treat for the homecoming girl, or so they tell me."

The photo of the building spilled out onto Judy's tray, and she smiled sadly. "Saint Glenn's. I was born there." she murmured, as she studied the solid brick front of the hospital. "It's been closed for... what? 15 years?"

"Some renovators found out it had gone Dungeon when they went in to repair the roof. Looks like it turned about a week or two ago. Both got out fine; a little spooked. Sherrif thought of calling you first, they're not eager to have the media and MEC descend on the town."

A nod. St. Glenn's hospital had once serviced a town of just over two thousand at the time, which had since dwindled to five hundred when the local quarry had shut down. It had a small town charm that Missouri kept in abundance, and Judy wasn't about to see it turn into the usual circus. "I'm guessing we're keeping it low-key?"

"Of course. Your mother asks that you visit before you go. She's promising lasagna."

"Guess that means we're sharing supper tonight?"

"Sharing? Ha! It'll be a duel at the table for your Mom's cooking..."

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Supper was, predictably, fantastic. Sleeping at home felt great; waking up to the wind in the chestnut tree outside, and Mishu on her pillow beside her, purring quietly. Judy gave the cat a few minutes worth of attention, then hastily showered and primmed herself. Breakfast was cordial but brief; her mother had been a farm-wife from the start, and still tended to the house in a lovable, bustling way. She was getting on into her mid-eighties, but Judy had a suspicion her mother would outlive her, with or without her choice of profession.

Susan drove her into town, briefing her on the details so far: The renovators story described the interior as a functioning hospital, one of the calenders reading the year 1952 inside, with a few country doctors, nurses, and patients walking through the halls. They pulled up and parked besides the sherrif's office.

"Constable Doug!" Judy called, waving. Doug grinned, paunchy and in his mid-60's, a white broom-bristle of a mustach spreading leisurely across his tanned, deeply lined face.

"Glad to see you, Missus Travel! C'mon, let's walk on down. There's a few reporters in town already; damn newshounds are at least giving Marsha some business at the motel. I think Miss Oppie here (Susan grinned at the nicname, she'd taken to the townsfolk quickly, and they to her) gave you the lowdown?"

Judy nodded. "You've got a medic standing by?"

"'course, Missus Travel. MEC even."

Susan started, and turned wide-eyed to the sherrif. "I thought you weren't going to call them!"

He shrugged in response. "We didn't near as I can tell. MEC got some new fancy satellite they're trying out. Sent a team here. When we told 'em you were coming, they backed off, volunteered their medic. One of 'em knows you, a Corporal Michealjager?"

Both Susan and Judy gave a little sigh of relief. Michaeljager, or 'Jag' for short, was in their opinion one of the few sane people with the MEC. His saving Judy's life hadn't hurt her opinion of him either. They walked on down the Main street, then turned off, the bulky MEC van parked in front, a reporter lazily interviewing an off-duty soldier. Another relief; the Science reporter from the Dallas Tribune. Polite and easy going, he was a reporter that people found themselves wanting to talk to.

A sharp looking woman nodded and waved her through, stopping the sherrif and Susan at the road barricade they'd set up. Definetly a low-level threat dungeon; it looked more like road-work than the elaborate defenses she'd seen set up around other sites. Michaeljager stuck his head out the van and yelled to her. "Judy! Saw you on Oprah yesterday!"

His looks had been given twenty years too late; he looked like a young Sean Connery, unfashionable nowadays, but pleasing to her eye. He might be ten years her junior, but she couldn't think of many finer knights in shining armor for her. She flashed a smile back, walking by. "Since when do you watch Oprah?"

"Since they tell me you're going to be on it!" he laughed back, waving over the information officer to see to her.

The briefing wasn't very informative; low-level haunting, a few ghost entities, lots of 'echoes' of past memory. No emergent hostiles yet. Only one artifact their scanners could detect, and also low-level at that. The MEC folks, at least under Michaeljager, were surprisingly friendly and helpful. Better than the cold shoulder or outright hostility she usually suffered at their hands. The blueprints of the hospital were laid out for her, but they needn't have bothered. A childhood spent in the town had ensured she'd seen the interior well enough to find her way around.

"How long are your men willing to give me?" she asked Michaeljager. Five hours, was the response, though they'd prefer her out in three. She nodded. Tight timing as always for an unknown place, where the interior volume was regularly larger than the exterior boundaries. The Dungeons all seemed to love breaking the laws of physics that way.

"Hey, Judy."

She turned to him.

"Be careful, alright?"

A smile creased her lips. "I'll try. No SteppenHaus!"

MichaelJager snorted as she walked up and let herself into the building.

"Steppenhaus?" the information officer queried.

"Place I fished her from when the fire-ghoul went after her."

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Stepping in always felt like dreaming. The momentary tingle; so faint you never felt it unless you were feeling for it. The sudden change in consistency of the air; suddenly it was thicker, less ephemeral. The door closed behind her, and she kept her eyes lidded, clearing her thoughts. Years of memories, auditions for acting, a few plays as a teen, flooded her, then left her calm. It's an audition, she told herself quietly. She could feel the fingers of the dungeon on her mind, tasting it, feeling for fear or anger, hatred. None to be found. It's just an audition. Play your role. Her eyes opened.

The hospital waiting room was bright, the light above casting the room into harsh relief. A calendar by the desk read August, 1959. She smiled slightly, glad her clothes wouldn't clash overmuch. A young girl with measles was being consoled by her mother, in the ugly green plastic chairs. On the other side, an old man sat with his leg in a cast, waiting an inspection. The nurse behind the desk studied her silently, then gave a brief, professional smile.

Judy walked across the room nonchalantly, mind stirring old memories, but calm and composed. Opening herself to the image the dungeon was presenting her. To her right, a doctor and some mindlessly babbling patients followed like zombies, out one room. The doctor held a bloody scalpel, and turned woodenly to stare at her. Steeling herself, Judy gave a gentle smile in his direction, then forced her attention back to the secretary. It's like improv, she reminded herself. Find your role and play it. She checked the nametag on the nurse at the desk.

"Hi Lucille. How's Glenn today?" she said brightly. A safe beginning, with a hospital by that name, it might be something the Dungeon would respond to.

Sure enough. "He's good, Jennifer. Cranky a bit. Wife was too busy with the jam making to come see him yet today."

Judy smiled inwardly, a sense of calm flooding her. She had a role. 'Jennifer' it was. "Is it okay if I go in and see him?"

"Visiting hours aren't for another hour yet, hon."

Judy gave a slightly crestfallen look. "Well, I guess I can wait."

The nurse smiled. "You go on in, Jennifer. But if the doctor asks, you're just delivering his lunch, alright?"

'Jennifer' gave her best friendly smile. "Sure, thanks Lucille. See you around."

When she turned, the doctor and his gaggle of mindless patients had vanished into a side room. She repressed a memory of the one other hospital she's delved, where every room had been a horror of mutilated children and screaming. This one, she reflected, was nice an clean and safe. A place to be healed. Repeating this like a mantra in her head.

The dungeon responded accordingly, it always did. She instinctively turned right, walking by memory to the senescence ward. A doctor passed her, his eyes filled with blood, but with a friendly, neutral smile. Another left down a hallway, again instinctive. Wandering. The dungeon decided what and when she'd find. Patience paid off, the only open door in the hall let warm sunlight through. She stepped in.

'Glenn' lay on a hospital bed, a nonexistant breeze gently stirring the gossamer-white curtains by the window. The sun outside was bright and summer; a robin was in the poplars, warbling. The man on the bed looked... formidable, in a fatherly way. Old, and strong, but with broadly gentle hands. Like a man who split his time between hard labor and gentle arts. A few tubes and an old EKG led from him, his right arm and leg in a cast. Face was sun-browned and weathered.

Judy gingerly sat in the visitor's chair beside the bed, and smiled as his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes, startlingly, had irises that looked like novelty contact lenses; staring into them, they mirrored the stout red brick of the building outside. No pupils, but the dappling of the shadows of the poplar leaves played across the patterns.

"Jennifer!" Glenn rumbled, for indeed it was a rumble, from his barrel-chest. "Glad to see someone's come to keep me company."

Judy puzzled silently. Evidently she wasn't his daughter, judging by the 'his wife' reference from Lucille. And he certainly didn't look like the type to keep a mistress. She decided on 'friend', and left it at that.

"Glenn, Glenn..." she tsked warmly. "What've you gone and done to yourself now?"

"Fell off the roof, pounding in those new braces for the rafters. Doctor Franz says I broke the ol' arm, and fractured my kneecap. 'course, I coulda told them that. Worked here longer than you been alive, haven't I?"

"Mom said she never had an easier birth than with you there." Judy replied.

"God bless your mother. Passed away some years ago, I remember the funeral. A good woman, a good woman." He patted the side of his bed with his left hand. "You should hear Doctor Franz go on about me. Thinks I'm too old to be doing what I do. Phah! What's the man know. Twenty years my junior."

Judy felt herself warming to 'Glenn'. It wasn't often a dungeon heart was this easygoing. "You don't think you should slow down?"

Glenn's eyes opened wider, displaying the bright lines of mortar across the deep red of brick. "Not on your life, young lady! Don't I still look strong to you?" A thump of his fist on his bear-like chest. Judy had to admit he certainly did, and said so. "Of course. And my hands, once I'm out of these casts... bah. Steady as ever, enough to make a scalpel do what it's meant to do, and save these young folk's lives."

"Not ready for retirement, hmm?" She murmured, studying the EKG. It traced the lines on the paper in even beats of Glenn's heart, incongruous amongst all the lower-tech devices the hospital had relied on. Technology killing the healer? The power switch was oversized and prominent on the machine, and suddenly all four walls loomed around her as she studied it. Understanding came easily; she need only hit it, and the dungeon would die.

But she'd be damned if that's how she'd end this one.

Glenn was speaking. He sounded indignant, and the heart-monitor spiked. "Of course not! Why, I'll bet I've got at least twenty years or more left in me. Damnation, I've been a healer my whole life. And now that Doctor Franz tells me to retire, slip into old age. Let the young folks step in and do my job for me." A pause of pained silence, then a murmur for her ears alone: "They're talking about forcing me to retire. You don't think..."

'Jennifer' rested her hand on his, the warm softness inviting. "No. I don't." she said firmly. "And if you let the staff here heal you right up, I'll put good money down that that Doctor Franz will be eating his words. You've always, always been a good doctor. Making you slow down, I can see. But stopping?" A bright smile. "Who else will be there to deliver /my/ daughter? And if that Doctor Franz or anyone else just so much as tries it, I'll tell him what for."

Glenn smiled, and the bricks in his irises seemed to brighten, and become newer. "You'll do that, Jennifer? Ah, of course you will. Never knew you to be anything but honest. But..." a smile. "Visiting hours haven't started yet. And patient or not, I'm still a doctor here. Go on, before Nurse Betty chases you out with a broom."

Judy stood quietly, then bent to give him a hug. She rested her hand on the sensor for the EKG. "Mind if I pull this silly thing off, Glenn? A broken arm isn't going to kill you." The sense of menace from the walls was there, but dissipated. Judy had made up her mind, and the decision was a good one.

Glenn smiled. "Would you, Jennifer? It's an awful nuisance."

The adhesive came free, and suddenly she was standing in a dusty, barren room. An old bed was folded up against the wall. And in her hands was an ordinary nail, sparkling a faint blue. She backtracked out the door, staring around until coming to the place where the renovations were being made. A hammer still lay there, dropped in the panicked haste of the men who'd been working.

She looked around. The floor here was unfinished, wooden planks being overlaid the old floor. Judy picked up the hammer, studying it for a moment. The MEC had enough trinkets. This one could stay. Gingerly, she tapped it into the floor along the line of the other flooring nails, and three sharp blows pounded it in. The hammer clanged a bit as she dropped it onto a nearby ladder, and walked out the entranceway.

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The sensors in the van beeped softly, the info officer giving the signal to MichaelJager. "It's green, sir. No residuals. One object reading, minimal. Class 1." In other words, a forgettable trinket. The retrieval squad would be annoyed to be called for something so minor.

Judy emerged from the doors with a smile and nod, and made a quiet beeline for Susan and the reporter.

"How'd it go, Judy?" Susan said, with a relieved smile.

A shrug and smile. "Easier than I expected. But mark a note... that 5% we've been setting aside for our next charity? We just found it. Let's get this hospital back up and running. Market it as a retirement-care home, if we have to."

Susan nodded. This part was always unexpected, but she was used to unusual requests from her clients. A dutiful note on her clipboard, then asked dryly. "Alright. Since when are we in the real-estate reclamation business?"

Judy gave Susan a brilliant smile. "Since always."