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Terror was cancelled – since then, he’d grown a thick beard and let his black hair grow rougher and shaggier than it had been, but he was still unmistakably TV’s Terror, beloved by a generation who’d been glued to his exploits even as the first Benton’s star had faded. He’d made a career for himself as a relatively well-known voice actor, and had even managed to get small roles in independent films and – his proudest moment – as a mass murderer in an episode of CSI: Miami. But for the most part he was still thoroughly typecast from the role that had created him. Even the voice work had started to run dry.
    He put the half-empty bottle down with a grimace. “I always knew the studio – Nestor – created me because of him. Because of Robert. Because he was so successful, he made them so much money. I was just the... the cheap knock-off. There were times when I hated him for that – which is crazy, because he was me.” He scowled, and took another swig. “But for a few minor details – city names, supporting cast – we were the same person. At the very least, we were close enough to be brothers. Born from the same father – that platonic ideal Benton, the one who only exists on paper.” He chuckled to himself. “Or Richard E. Hughes. I had to look him up. Died in 1974, or I might have found him and given him a piece of my mind. I don’t know why more of us don’t do that – confront our gods.”
    Niles coughed nervously, wondering when the right moment would be exactly to tell Bob his news. He didn’t like interrupting Bob while he was having one of his existential crises, but at the same time this was hardly a new topic of conversation.
    “So,” Bob said, “when I heard Robert was dead – killed himself, for fuck’s sake, totally out of character – I felt like... like the reason for my existence was gone. Like another side of myself was gone. I started wondering if he’d done it because of me, because when I was translated he lost any kind of uniqueness, any individual status he had. Never mind what the judge said.” He looked into the distance for a moment. “I mean – look, my show was cancelled before his last film, sure. But that was an artistic choice. We wanted to quit while we were ahead, I thought I could have a career, the writers thought they could have another big hit with their show about the guy who can turn invisible in water...” He sighed heavily, shook his head again, and drained his bottle in a few gulps.
    Niles shrugged. “ Sea-Thru did all right. It got a full season.”
    Bob snorted. “On DVD, sure. Well, anyway... we ended on a high note, at least. A lot better than what happened to Robert. I mean,” he said, warming to his theme, “can you even imagine what it’s like to be rejected like that? By the public, by the people you were created for, to be told you don’t matter, while all the time there’s another version of you... basking... ” He spat the final word like a curse.
    Niles looked over at his friend, hesitated a moment, and then ventured a question. “This wouldn’t be about Rob, would it? Benton number three?”
    Bob snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Niles. What do you think?”
     
     
    T HE SECOND B OB Benton – the man who would, in the fullness of time, become Niles’ best friend – was created to cash in on the second wave of ‘Terrormania’ by filling a void the first one, somewhat foolishly, had not. There were three things that hadn’t occurred to ParaVideo: firstly that the general public might want more Black Terror after they left the movie theatre, secondly that they could provide a supply for this demand by producing a regular Black Terror TV show, and thirdly that someone else might have the idea first.
    In 1991, the Nestor Communications Company became that someone. Their television arm had been debating the best way to spend their translation budget, and – with a second Black Terror movie on the way and the character still